


Nova Cupiditas

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape, Consent Issues, Curses, Dubious Consent, M/M, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 119,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Nova cupiditas</i>—the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Strike

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark story. The rape is attempted rape, but it comes so close to happening that I thought it better to tag for it. (And it may cross lines for some people regardless). Please tread carefully.

They seized him when he was coming out of a pub in Diagon Alley, turning back to shout over his shoulder. Draco never remembered who he was with that night. The drink and the shock of the curse drove everything else out of his head. Perhaps they had been part of the plan, perhaps not.

Draco didn’t know that it mattered, given what happened to him.

Someone hissed into his ear, and then they draped a sack over his head. A wand hit him in the ribs, casting an extraordinarily painful Stunning Spell that made Draco slump. He could still hear and feel, but he couldn’t move, and of course no one would notice anything unusual about someone who couldn’t walk on his own being escorted away from a pub at this time of night.

Draco felt the cobblestones lurch past under his feet before someone whispered something harsh and disgusted, and he was heaved up and carried. His head dangled and flopped. His neck hurt. His legs ached. Tears of pain rolled down his face and collected against the sack, accompanied by a dribble of snot, and he couldn’t even reach up to wipe them away. He just had to hang there and let himself be carried.

They Apparated, as he knew from the cracks nearby and the wrenching, whirling sensation in his stomach. When they landed, he could smell, even muffled through the sack, the strong scents of night-blooming flowers. The fingers of his captors ran over his head and shoulders, then yanked the sack away.

Draco, already starting to recover from the Stunner, squinted desperately about him. Nothing. A fire burned in front of him, destroying his night vision. He could make out grass and a tall tree, an oak. It could have been anywhere. Anything—a garden, a manor house, a Muggle dwelling. He might even have doubted they were in England if not for the fact that one couldn’t Apparate between continents.

“Drop him.” The voice was harsh and had the growling undertone of an auditory glamour, masking it to the point that Draco couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

His captors obeyed with brutal efficiency, and Draco flopped to the ground. He gasped, which alerted him to the fact that he could move a little now. At once he whipped his hand down, reaching for his wand.

But his captors were faster than he was, especially with the Stunning Spell still partially in effect. One of them kicked his hand away; another pinned it to the ground. Someone came near with what looked like a blunt saw in hand, and Draco’s stomach tried to crawl out his throat as he realized that they meant to cut his fingers off.

“No!”

The harsh voice created silence all around them. Draco could sense his captors turning to look in its direction, and he knew this was the leader. He closed his eyes, rejecting his sight as useless, trying frantically to learn anything he could that might help him identify his enemy later. The scent of burning wood, yes, but was there anything under or behind that, a fancy perfume, perhaps? He thought he smelled something extra, but that could have been his own frantic imagination making up clues.

“But we agreed that we could torture him,” said a more distinctive voice, not hidden, from Draco’s left. He didn’t know it, but he thought he would recognize that particular flat whine if he ever heard it again.

“I have thought of a better way,” said the voice, and there was a moment of furious whispering. Draco tried to control his own panting and listen, but it was extraordinarily difficult. The only good thing, as he could see it right now, was that they probably planned to let him live, if they bothered to hide their next move from him.

“But everyone is doing that.” The flat whine again. “I wanted some unique torture for what his father did to my family.”

 _My father. Of course._ Draco’s bitterness swallowed his fear for a transient moment. It always came back to Lucius, and the fact that he had sustained only a three-month sentence in Azkaban for his Death Eater activities. Draco himself thought that he should have had longer, but he didn’t see why _he_ should pay for his father’s crimes.

“Not with the recipient I have chosen,” said the disguised voice, and there was more whispering, then sharp laughter. Draco knew he would hear that laughter in his dreams to the end of his life, assuming they left him his hearing.

“Perfect,” said a different person, a woman, soft and low and eager. Draco might have found her voice charming had they met under other circumstances. “May I cast the spell? I would like to.”

“No, I should!” the flat whine disagreed at once. Draco counted his heartbeats and told himself to remember that. This person with the flat voice was competitive and wanted to torture him. It was information that could be used to find an enemy again.

“I am afraid that she is more steady,” said the disguised voice. “You will have your chance later. Be still for now, Abelard.”

 _Abelard._ It was a fake name, it had to be, but Draco still seized the name and sank it into the depths of his mind. Let them take everything else from him; he would remember that name, and track it to its source, as long as they left him alive.

Movement above him. Draco snapped his eyes open and saw the woman kneeling over his body. Of course, she wore such a thick cloak, with raised hood, that he caught no more than a glimpse of pale cheeks and intense blue eyes. She held up her wand and said, “Harry Potter,” in a clear voice, like an offering to Merlin.

Draco would have looked around if his pride had let him. Potter was part of this conspiracy? Draco wouldn’t have thought it of him, which was probably foolish. Potter had always hated him in school.

The woman began to lower her wand towards him. Draco tried to break free again, but the hands on his wrist and body held firm. So he did the only thing he could, and spat up into the woman’s face. She dodged neatly, and the spittle fell back to coat Draco’s cheeks like the tears his eyes had already leaked.

The woman didn’t appear angry. She only shook her head, like someone scolding a naughty child, and said, “ _Nova cupiditas._ ”

The spell caused no pain. There was nothing more than a flare of black light around Draco’s body, which settled into his skin like a setting sun. And they released him a moment later and picked him up, Apparating him to the gates of Malfoy Manor, where they tossed him like rubbish.

But when the house-elves found him, Draco was screaming.

*

Harry took a few steps back, cocking his head, and then nodded. The ladle lay in the exact center of the table, which wasn’t the complete answer to his problem but seemed to help. He would try again.

Holding out his wand, he whispered, “ _Videtur._ ”

His wand spat a sullen spark. The air around the ladle seemed to congeal, and for a brief moment, Harry made out an airy image of what looked like the map of Europe. Heart leaping in hope, he strode forwards.

The image faded at once, and with it, any sense of magic the ladle may have possessed. It once again lay there, an ordinary object.

Harry grinned anyway. That image was unique, and more than he had got any of the other times he had tried to see this particular spell.

He whooped, caught the ladle, and tossed it into the air in celebration. When he caught it again, he stood there a minute holding the cool metal and closing his eyes so that he could savor the triumph.

He had been trying for months to see a _Finite Incantatem_ on an object that he’d enchanted and then removed the spell from. He’d varied the speed with which he cast the revealing spell, the object he’d cast it on—that, hundreds of times—the location where he tried the revealing spell, and his emotional temper. This was the first sign of visible success.

Harry snickered. _Visible. I amuse myself._

But the ladle was an ordinary object, if a metal one, and it appeared that placing it on wood and then casting the revealing spell as soon as he could was the best method. That had got a better result than the one with the metal spoon, which in turn got a better result than the one with the metal knife. Round objects, or a degree of roundness, appeared to contribute to success, too, Harry thought. He should try with a metal sphere next.

He carried the ladle upstairs to his workshop, which was filled with everything from blocks of blades to pegs that carried cloaks, scarves, and other clothes. On one side was an enormous desk crowded with paper. Harry rooted through the parchment, found the list of notes he was looking for, and began noting the image that had appeared around the ladle down.

Harry had drifted into his project of trying to learn to see spells by stages, at first getting interested in the Dark Arts that the Aurors focused on, and then in how one prevented them, and then in how one cured cases of rare curses where their casters or inventors had been dead for years, and then in what one might do to invent new spells. Inventing new spells was rare and difficult, and most people believed that the best wizards created no more than one or two completely unique ones in their lifetimes. Most of the spells in the margins of the Half-Blood Prince’s book, for example, had turned out to be variations on common curses. Harry had learned that at the very start of his investigations.

But if one could see the spells, either by their effects or by an image they would create that was like a magical signature, then one could start classifying them. And by changing the image they produced, maybe you could create something entirely new.

Harry had to study revealing spells, and how those revealing spells worked, and the few cases already recorded where people could see the signatures of spells, and then he had to put all the knowledge together and push it forwards. It was indirect, and Hermione, while she admired his dedication to the research (of course she did), told him that he would be better off investigating the spells that already varied a lot and learning how to cast different versions of them than doing this.

But Harry was interested, and intrigued enough to keep doing it. If he never did anything else with his life, he was determined to reach this goal. He had only been studying it for two years, and already he’d made a significant amount of progress.

He stopped collating the notes when the clock chimed noon, and took up his cloak. He wanted to grab a quick lunch from the Leaky Cauldron and come back as soon as he could, while the image around the ladle was still fresh in his mind.

When he stepped into Diagon Alley, though, he knew immediately that something was wrong. The air around him rang with that particular chill that meant Dark curses had been recently cast, and there was blood on the cobblestones, he saw a moment later. Harry drew his wand and crouched back against the wall of the shop he’d Apparated in by, wondering what was wrong. The Aurors ought to have been here by now if it was certifiable Dark magic.

When he concentrated, he heard troubled breathing from a few streets away. That was the only sound. Harry’s eyes narrowed, and he aimed his wand at the cobblestones where the blood was. “ _Videtur_ ,” he whispered.

That spell was reliable for rock, and, sure enough, created the glowing red half-dome that told him there was a spell near the blood. Harry paused a second, gathered up his strength, and cast a _Finite_ directly at it.

A well-prepared Concealing Charm shattered with a noise like a glass bowl overturning. Harry made out someone lying there under a grey cloak before the person reared up and shot a curse at him.

Harry’s legs still remembered they had been trained by Aurors, even when his brain didn’t. He leaped sideways and down, and then rolled around the corner of the shop when he heard the window above him shatter. Someone screamed and was silent again. Harry winced. He hoped that his dodging hadn’t meant that someone inside the shop was hurt.

But he had tried to put such ridiculous guilt aside in the last few years. He couldn’t be responsible for the safety of everyone in the wizarding world for the rest of his life. He peered around the corner.

Either the attacker had fled, or the Concealing Charm was back up. Harry could see nothing on the cobblestones but blood now.

He started to stand, and a hand thrust out from the air right in front of him and dragged him forwards.

Harry twisted his head to the side, using a different weapon because his wand was too low and too close to his body, and sank his teeth into the arm that held him. The person hissed instead of screaming as Harry would have expected and pulled him closer, through the flimsy barrier of the charm hiding them, which felt like mist sticking in his eyebrows when he passed it.

The person jerked him up and held him there. Harry blinked, struggling to see past the pounding blood in his head and the pain of his robe collar cutting into his throat. They _had_ to have cast a charm for extra strength, too, he thought hazily. There was no way that an ordinary adult man, which this bloke looked like, could just hold someone of Harry’s weight aloft without dropping him.

Then he saw the pointed face, and the wide, crazed grey eyes, and the telltale hair, and he forgot his careful accounting of spells in his surprise.

“ _Malfoy?”_ he choked.

The grey eyes focused on him, and widened. Harry expected Malfoy to cast him back into the street and run like hellhounds were after him.

Instead, he put Harry on the ground and stood there staring at him. Harry shivered. He had never encountered someone who studied him that way before. He was used to hero-worship, lust, admiration, and any number of varieties of hatred from people who had been Death Eaters, but Malfoy looked as if Harry controlled the air he breathed and might cut it off at any moment.

Malfoy lifted a hand that trembled and cupped Harry’s chin. His thumb stroked Harry’s cheek. His eyes were dark with something other than fear now, and he breathed out, causing the breath to raise the tiny hairs on Harry’s face that were all that remained of his stubble at this time of the day.

“Malfoy?” Harry squeaked the name this time.

Malfoy leaned forwards, eyes still fixed, and kissed him.

Harry had never felt something so bizarre. Malfoy and he might have been lovers for years. Malfoy’s tongue sought carefully along his lips, tapping now and then to encourage them to open. His hand remained gentle and coaxing on Harry’s face. He pressed close and shook.

Not just lovers for years, Harry thought, but lovers separated by a shipwreck who had stood no chance of seeing each other again.

He wrenched himself back to the present when Malfoy pressed against him, moaning like a cat in heat, reaching down Harry’s chest to his groin. “I don’t know what’s going on, Malfoy,” he said firmly. He could have wished his voice was firmer, but better soft than silent. He cleared his throat. “I think you’re the victim of a spell. I need to get you to St. Mungo’s. We’ll decide what to do when—”

Malfoy pressed his mouth back into place, silencing Harry again, and thrust a knee between his legs.

It was that which fully convinced Harry Malfoy was under a spell. He couldn’t imagine Malfoy doing something so crude and—and _unsophisticated_ in public of his own free will. Yes, he might have made a bet, but even then, Harry thought the git would still have tried to lure Harry into a side alley before trying this.

Harry had never let go of his wand, and it was simplicity itself to place it against Malfoy’s ribs and cast a Stunner. Malfoy’s eyes crossed and he slumped into Harry’s arms, head dangling as if he were a slaughtered cow. Harry had no choice but to catch him, trying valiantly not to yelp.

When he looked down, he thought Malfoy’s eyes were watching him with wordless anguish. But he was unconscious by then, so they couldn’t have been.

Harry was disturbed anyway as he wrapped his cloak around Malfoy and prepared to Apparate to St. Mungo’s.

*

Draco came back to himself as if he was putting together a puzzle. Disconnected pieces of grey and black, void and reality, floated into being and then joined each other. Without being aware of when he started to make sense of his surroundings, he realized that he was listening to a conversation about him.

“…worried about him, I can understand that,” said one voice, harsh and impatient. It was the kind of voice that made Draco want to reach down and make sure that his robes were clean, just on general principles. “But it’s not _your_ problem, Mr. Potter, frankly. You can go home and not be troubled with it again.”

New pieces joined the puzzle suddenly. Draco remembered what he had done when he was under the influence of lust as powerful as drunkenness, and groaned.

He could hear the people having the conversation turning towards him, but he didn’t care. He’d resisted the compulsion to seek out Potter and drown the burning thirst in his throat with a kiss of those lips for a week. What had changed? He couldn’t even remember the moment when he had broken down.

“Malfoy?”

He had to face this, Draco thought dismally. There could be nothing worse than the first sight. The disgust on Potter’s face when he heard the source of the problem wouldn’t be greater than it was right now. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

Potter leaned against the bed, arms folded, studying him. He looked mildly interested, as if Draco was an academic problem, not disgusted. Draco shuddered and had to close his eyes again after all. With one side of his vision, he could see Potter as he was—scruffy robes and mangled hair and all.

With the other side, he saw nothing but a feast. He could dream of licking those lips, biting that throat, shutting those eyes with kisses, mouthing that hair. He dug his fingers into his arms.

A half-hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. After all, digging his fingers into his arms was where the spell was leading him.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, and it wasn’t accusing. “What happened? Do you want to tell me?”

The woman fluttering behind Potter, who was the other person Malfoy must have heard speaking, cleared her throat importantly. “You don’t need to tell him that,” she said. “And you don’t need to listen, Mr. Potter. I told you. We’re the ones who’ll have to deal with this problem.”

“I think Mr. Malfoy should tell me what it is if he wants to,” Potter said. He sounded unmoved by the Healer, or mediwitch, or whoever she was. “I can think of a few different spells that might make him do this, but I don’t know which one it is.”

Draco frowned with surprise. Potter sounded like a _researcher_ , as if he had done work with lust spells in the past. It was not at all the way Draco had expected to find him.

Then again, he would have liked not to care if Potter was lost at sea. The spell didn’t give him that option, though.

“It’s _Nova Cupiditas,_ Potter,” he said. “You must have heard of that, since so many of your precious half-bloods and Muggleborns have been casting it on people like me.”

Potter caught his breath. There was a sound of movement, and Draco strained his ears, expecting that Potter would retreat from the room now. Instead, a hand landed on his shoulder that might have been intended as _comforting_ , squeezed, and withdrew. Draco looked again, utterly startled.

“I’ve heard of it,” Potter said levelly. His eyes were grim, but they had strength in them, and Draco responded to that strength with a flutter of hope in his chest before he thought about what he was doing. “It’s the curse that makes you lust after someone you would usually hate, and if you don’t get the lust fulfilled, then you start—mutilating yourself.”

Draco nodded. “This curse is hunger, Potter,” he said softly. “If the hunger can’t be fulfilled one way, then I’ll take it out another way.”

“But if you do—fuck the person you’re thinking of,” Potter said. He flushed, but Draco had to give him credit for using the word. “Then the lust retreats, but returns in a short time, and the time keeps getting shorter and shorter in between bouts of sex, right? Until you end up going mad and tearing yourself apart anyway, because you can’t possibly have sex with the other person fast enough.”

Draco nodded a second time. He did wonder where pure, innocent Potter had learned about that curse, but then again, it had been in the papers since the vigilante Mudbloods started to use it as a means of punishment. It wouldn’t have been impossible for Potter to gather the details. “And it’s usually not sex,” he added, “since they’re using it to punish us by making us desire enemies. It’s rape.”

Potter nodded, eyes and expression distant. Draco rolled over on his side so that he could stare at the wall and not reach out to satisfy the thirst with just one kiss.

“No one can remove it?” Potter asked.

Draco was sinking back into despair. He had the impression that Potter was trying to find a loophole in the curse’s description, but there was none. Draco knew there wasn’t. “No,” he said. “Not even the caster.”

Potter gripped his shoulder again. Draco had to turn towards him, _had_ to, because even that brief touch made him feel more real and clear-minded than he had in days.

“I use experimental magic to let me see the signatures of spells themselves,” Potter told him. “It’s not perfect yet, except for some of the more common spells, but I could—I could try to find out what _Nova Cupiditas_ looks like. I could try to discern its shape. Once I can do that, I usually know what it takes to banish a spell.”

Hope had sharper talons than despair, Draco found. He clutched at Potter’s arm, and said, “You can’t.”

“I can try,” Potter said. His face had a shadow of anger on it now, which Draco thought was the distant edge of a storm. “It’s not _right_ that you be forced to go mad or be made into a rapist because someone thought you didn’t suffer enough during the war. And it’s not right that I be made into a rape victim or a murderer—or a rapist myself, which I would become if I had sex with you when you can’t really agree. We both deserve to be fully human.”

Draco had never called Potter a savior except in jest. He might be inclined to start taking that title more seriously now.


	2. Second Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“What happened to land you in the middle of Diagon Alley like that?”

It was the first question Potter had asked him since they left hospital. Draco had been glad enough to let Potter handle all the impertinent demands from Healers that he leave Draco in their hands, and the requests for information from the small handful of reporters who were waiting outside the doors, and the doubtful stares of people who seemed to have heard or guessed what was wrong. Draco had closed his eyes through most of it, in fact, and only opened them when Potter told him they would need to Apparate to his house. He made it a rule not to Apparate anywhere blind now.

Potter’s house was larger than Draco would have expected—even given his money, he’d thought the Hero would choose a modest sort of place, not this cross between a manor house and a hotel—and he’d occupied himself wandering around the ground floor while Potter set up a bedroom for him. Or what he thought was the ground floor. Draco soon realized that there were two other floors beneath this one, plunging into the earth, excavated by powerful and skilled magic. When he sniffed, the odors of a workshop welled up the stairs that led downwards. And why not? Potter had said that he was working with experimental magic.

Draco’s bedroom was more than acceptable, large and decorated in neutral brown and grey shades, with a window that could have come from one of his parents’ smaller sitting rooms. Draco had touched the bed and then leaned on it, partially because it was soft and partially because he wanted to convince himself that he really was here, in Potter’s house, accepting an invitation from someone who wanted to help him.

Hard to believe he was feeling hope.

Now he turned towards Potter and studied him for a long moment before he answered. Potter didn’t seem to notice. He was bent over the pot that hung over the fire, an intent frown on his face, while he added carrots, sliced onions, and some kind of delicate dark meat to the soup.

When he turned his head, Draco replied, “I couldn’t stand being at home anymore, away from you. I Apparated to Diagon Alley and used some Dark Arts that I hoped would release my fucking stupid energy.” He paused, but Potter didn’t seem offended by his language. Heartened, Draco went on. “One of my spells rebounded and cut my arm. I realized by then what I was doing, out in public no less, so I hid myself from the Aurors I assumed would show up.”

“There must be a crisis elsewhere if none of them showed up before we left,” Potter muttered. He suddenly frowned. “Is the cut healed now?”

Draco nodded. His throat was dry. The vision he saw around Potter again, that heavenly shimmer that made him look so much more appealing than he was, had returned again. His fingers itched, and he rubbed his hand against his trouser legs. “I healed it before you arrived. I—look, Potter, this is difficult. Can I touch you again?” His face burned with humiliation as he made the request.

But Potter had his own method of handling such things, Draco found out. He nodded and set down the tongs that he’d been using to lever a bottle of some kind of seasoning above the pot. “Briefly. We don’t want dinner to spoil.”

Draco half-closed his eyes in relief. He could live with this academic response on Potter’s part. He stepped forwards and ran a hand down Potter’s arm.

It was like having the finest cheese and wine after a long diet of nothing but bread. It was like touching velvet and silk after being condemned to a life of sackcloth. Draco shuddered and pressed closer.

Part of the difficulty of being under the Devouring Curse, Draco was discovering, came from trying to describe the sensations to someone else. He was hungry for the touch of Potter’s skin, but he despised the thought of touching it at the same time. His free will remained, and it didn’t; it had certainly vanished when he had the chance to snog Potter in the middle of Diagon Alley. He experienced the sensation when he brushed his hand over Potter’s skin as a touch, and also as a fulfillment of hunger.

And he couldn’t keep from trying to take more, despite what Potter had implied about keeping him at bay. He clasped his hands on Potter’s shoulders, delighting in the solid feel of the bone, and teased gently at his ankles with one foot. He wanted Potter’s legs spread. The counters in the kitchen were big enough to contain a tall person’s sprawled body, Draco judged. If he could lay Potter back—

“Back, now.”

The voice echoing his thoughts made Draco blink in a dazed fashion, before he realized that Potter was speaking and shoving him away. He went, clenching his hands. The disgust was in full force now. The desire to touch Potter smoldered away beneath the surface nonetheless, like a banked fire.

“I hate this,” he ground out.

“I won’t be so fond of it, either, by the time we’re done.” Potter shook a few more grains of spice, whatever it was, into the soup, and then tasted it with a spoon. Smiling, he lifted the soup free in the next instant and began to pour it into two bowls. “After we eat, we should go into my workshop and establish what will and won’t show up to revealing spells. Oh, and you should send a house-elf for your clothing. I don’t think I have anything likely to fit you.”

Draco accepted the bowl, half in a dream. When he had pictured seeking Potter out and soothing his hunger, he had expected many shrieks about an assault on the Hero’s virtue. Potter instead managed to hold him at bay and not seem as if he was doing so at the same time. It was better than Draco could have expected.

The food was good, but not satisfying. Draco watched the curl of Potter’s hair and the shape of his eyes, hungry for other things.

*

“All right. Stand in the center of that circle in the middle of the floor.”

Malfoy turned his head and stared at Harry. Since the dinner—well, since the touching session in the kitchen, Harry thought—he had acted more like his normal self. He managed to convey now, with a single skeptical glance, that he didn’t look forward to being devoured by whatever entity Harry thought he might call up in the circle.

Harry had to laugh outright at the look. “It’ll be all right. This circle just contains the charms that might damage other things in the lab, that’s all.”

“I never knew revealing spells were dangerous,” Malfoy murmured, but he stepped into the circle nevertheless. Harry waved his wand and sealed the circle behind him. A quiet hum of energy sang in the back of his teeth. Malfoy seemed to notice it, too, since he started and touched his mouth for a moment before he dropped his hand.

“Not so much to ordinary people or objects,” Harry admitted, picking up his notebook so that he could have it at his side to write down immediate impressions. “But a lot of these objects have charms on them already that will affect how I see the magical signatures of any incantations I use on them. Those charms could be disturbed by interaction with another revealing spell.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I can’t get used to it.”

“Used to what?” Harry checked the distance between his feet and the circle, and then backed up. He was standing too close for using a good revealing spell on a human, or at least the theory said that. He’d never actually tried to use an experiment on a human before, except for a time when Ron had carried an unknown Dark spell into his house and Harry had had to identify it and stop it before it spread. “Good, that’s perfect.”

“Used to you being a researcher. An academic.” Malfoy stared at him, eyes half-lidded. It didn’t hide the desire in them.

“It took me a long time to get used to it, too,” Harry said cheerfully. He thought that he probably would get more cooperation from Malfoy if he didn’t make anything too serious. This was serious enough, and they both knew it, and Harry, at least, could feel Malfoy’s kisses on his skin to remind him. His hands had felt warmer than normal when they touched Harry’s bare skin, too, as if he was carrying coals.

_Warmth._ Well, it was at least a guess, and Harry knew that the smallest, most insignificant details of a situation could affect his ability to see the magical signature of a spell, sometimes. He reached out and picked up a vial of ashes from a campfire that he’d built on the spot where a dragon had died. He sorted out a handful and cradled them in his palm. Although they were long cold, he could feel a sort of ghost of lingering heat.

Malfoy watched him with wide eyes. “Potter, what are you doing?” He probably knew something about how magical the ashes were, Harry thought, which was a hopeful sign. He knew that in later stages, _Nova Cupiditas_ took over a person’s reactions. They wouldn’t be able to sense anything but the hunger.

“Hush,” Harry said, and cradled the ashes tighter, thinking of the flames of that campfire as it leaped around him, the color of the flames and the almost tangible pressure of the heat against the side of his face. Then he aimed his wand at Malfoy. Start with the simplest first, the spell that had revealed the Dark charm clinging to Ron’s back. “ _Videtur._ ”

The air between them turned yellow-black, like the colors that Harry saw on the back of his eyelids when he pressed down on them with a hand. A sour smell surged up and around them, and Harry winced.

“What?” Malfoy demanded, coughing. Harry thought the stink of sulfur might have been enough to make him do that, or maybe it was a reaction to the revealing spell. It might be hopeful if it was. He wrote that down, and then the color, describing it as exactly as he could.

Once it was written down, it triggered another memory. Harry blinked and turned his head so that he could look at a shelf along the far wall which carried silver vials and jars. One of the jars had a dark liquid in it, studded with fragments of bone.

“That’s interesting,” Harry said slowly.

“What?” Malfoy asked a second time. His voice was lower. Harry glanced at him and found him closer to the edge of the circle, watching Harry like he was for dessert.

_I’ll just have to get used to that,_ Harry told himself, although he could feel a flush creeping up his face. He’d become a lot more adult in the last few years, or at least he liked to think so, but he still didn’t like concentrated attention. He cleared his throat and focused on the notebook. “It seems there’s a defense built into _Nova Cupiditas_ that prevents normal revealing charms from working. As though someone knew you might try to see the signature and determined to keep you from succeeding.”

“Me?” Malfoy’s face was pale, now. “The bastards who cast this on me built that in?”

Harry chuckled a bit, though it made Malfoy grew sterner and colder and more upset in those two seconds than Harry had seen him so far. “Sorry,” Harry said. “Hermione keeps telling me that my lack of proper research-oriented English is going to get me in trouble, and she’s right. What I meant was that anyone who might try a revealing charm would be foiled. The caster who invented the curse seemed to be concerned about that.” He nodded at the shelf. “It’s like a liquid I investigated last year. It turned out that a Dark wizard the Aurors were chasing used that liquid to conceal the fact that a lot of his murders were ordinary ones. He wanted to make himself look more powerful and mysterious than he was, and worry the Aurors that they were trying to capture a genius.”

“But why would someone want to prevent people from seeing the spell’s signature when your discipline is so new?” Malfoy frowned.

Harry closed his eye in a slow wink. “Exactly.”

Malfoy twitched his head like someone trying to shake off a hand in his hair. “Fine, why don’t you explain to me what it means, instead of just implying that I should know?”

Harry hadn’t realized he was doing that. Then again, Malfoy was a stranger to the way that Harry usually worked. Of course he wouldn’t know what Harry was expecting him to pick up, the way that Hermione would. Harry gave a short nod of apology and said, “There must be a weakness there that revealing the signature would allow us to see. Otherwise, why would the caster want to prevent an operation that would be unusual at the time the curse was made? This curse is hundreds of years old, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Some of the tension bled out of Malfoy’s face. Harry thought it helped him when he could contribute information about his problem in an academic way, the same way Harry intended to approach it. “First appeared around the same time as the Statute of Secrecy, as a means of punishing wizards by making them lust after Muggles.”

Harry bit his tongue so that he wouldn’t say what he thought of that “punishment.” The curse had horrible enough consequences that just having it cast on you was bad, and never mind the effects of prejudice. “Then whoever invented it would have been clever as well as cruel,” Harry said. “More than clever enough to realize the weakness and conceal it. But not enough to hide its existence altogether from someone who can work as I do.”

Malfoy began to pace inside the circle, turning his head so that he could keep Harry in sight no matter how he moved. Harry saw the sweat starting on his forehead, and grimaced in sympathy. It seemed that the curse had begun to torment Malfoy again. “But how soon are you going to uncover this weakness?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “There are so many factors that can vary in a study like this. I’m having to discover a whole new set of natural laws and then learn how they apply. It could be months.”

Malfoy’s voice cracked down the middle. Harry had once thought he would pay to see Malfoy humiliated like that, but watching it now, it really wasn’t a pleasant sight at all. “ _Months_?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s not automatically going to take that long, but it could.”

“I don’t have that long.” Malfoy pressed towards the edge of the circle, though even in the middle of his lust, Harry noted, he was smart enough to keep his hands from crossing the invisible barrier. “I have to have you right now. What is it going to be like when we’ve spent months together?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. I _can_ promise you that I’ll work as hard as I can to make sure it doesn’t come to that. This is my number one priority for right now.”

Malfoy closed his eyes, then opened them again. They were bloodshot, Harry noticed, and he wondered when that had happened. “Please,” he whispered.

Harry sighed and lowered the barrier. Malfoy crossed the distance between them in what was practically a leap and then pinned Harry to the nearest shelf. Harry heard several delicate things cracking and shifting behind them and opened his mouth to scold Malfoy.

Malfoy’s tongue filled it, instead of the words he had planned on. Malfoy reached out and hitched Harry’s leg up and around his waist. His words were soft and urgent, although they were swallowed by moans. Harry could feel a prickling heat start to life all over his body, and had to bite back an exclamation.

He hadn’t known that he would have a reaction to this. He had only been attracted to a few blokes in his life, and that was why he had thought it was all right to let Malfoy kiss him. Yes, it wasn’t _ideal_ , but he wasn’t going to respond and embarrass them both. It was like letting someone who was depressed cry on your shoulder. It would make you both feel a bit like you had to avoid each other’s eyes when it was done. Not more than that.

Malfoy was determined to make it more, it seemed. His hands were smoothing up and down Harry’s limbs, one on his left arm, the other on his right leg, and in tandem with the movements of Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth. The suppressed moans were gaining quickness and urgency, and Malfoy rocked forwards, shifting his erection along Harry’s groin. Harry started to get hard.

_It’s not like I can help it,_ he thought defensively. _And it’s not like he can help it, either. The people at fault are the bastards who cursed him to be like this. I have to remember that._

All the same, he thought it had been enough, and he reached up to pry Malfoy’s mouth away from his.

*

This kiss was better than all the ones Draco had had, and it wasn’t simply because of the hunger that vanished at last when he got his tongue inside Potter’s mouth.

It was because he could feel power under his hands, restraint trembling under his assault. Potter was swaying towards a response in spite of himself. Draco could hear him hitching and gasping and gulping his whimpers. He was pulling now at Draco’s hair to try and draw his head backwards.

But Draco was too fascinated. He wanted to see that restraint break and have Potter touch him freely, not because he was trying to escape. He pushed forwards and took his hand from Potter’s shoulder to reach down and caress his cock.

Hardness and warmth beneath his hand, _burning_ through the layer of robes that constricted it. Draco murmured appreciation, or tried to, though his mouth was too full of saliva for it to sound effective. He leaned in and kissed sloppily at the corner of Potter’s lips, then began to stroke him.

For one moment, Potter shuddered, and his mind was gone, as Draco could see from his eyes. He smiled smugly and pressed closer. _Let me touch you. You’ll feel so much better, I’ll feel so much better, and I won’t be as helpless, if I can bring someone else into this._

Yes, everything was going to work out. Draco still remembered it, as a fact, that the curse would get worse if he yielded to his lust for a while, but it was without any impact on him now. He knew that he would feel so much better, satisfy the hunger and the thirst, if he pulled Potter into bed. Potter would get an orgasm out of it. That was much better, more important, than the abstract consequences that he knew would follow.

Potter tensed against him, and Draco murmured pleasure and surprise. Was Potter going to get off already? That didn’t take long. Draco just hoped that he had a fast recovery period, since he would want Potter’s company in the aftermath. He stroked harder and angled his head so that he could bite at Potter’s neck.

He had exactly one second of flesh in his mouth and under his hand and the curse purring in him like a great cat before an electric shock shivered through him and flung him backwards. Draco landed on the floor with a gasp, touching his burned lips with one finger, and then reaching a hand down to his smarting arse.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

Only Potter could say those words in a composed tone when he was also hard, his hair mussed and his lips bright red from Draco’s hands and mouth. He crouched on the floor, as if he thought that his hunching knees would manage to hide his erection, and nodded to Draco. “It was the only thing I could think of to make you back off.”

Draco didn’t answer, but simply buried his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Embarrassment flooded him, yes, but stronger was the recoil of the frustrated curse, which burned his muscles. His fingers itched, yes, but now the impulse was to direct them towards his own arms instead of Potter.

He would _not_ start scratching and mutilating himself. Draco swallowed and looked up. “You did what you had to to preserve your honor, Potter,” he said.

Potter laughed, another strange sound in the lab given what had just happened. “I don’t have any virginity left to lose,” he said. Draco stared, wondering why it felt as if a dark whirlwind had just moved into his chest. “I did it because I don’t want you to be a rapist. I told you, you deserve to have some dignity.”

He was looking at Draco with pride and compassion, but Draco couldn’t bear that right now. He turned away with what he knew was an awkward hitch of one shoulder and shook his head. “Fine, Potter. I accept that. I’m going to bed.”

Potter nodded and didn’t try to touch him again, but did say before Draco left the room, “We’ll find some way to beat this, Malfoy. I promise.”

Draco pretended he didn’t hear, because a coherent reply was beyond him. He shut the door of the lab behind him and climbed the stairs that led back up to the ground floor. His legs were weak. He had to pause and lean on the wall more than once along the way, his eyes shutting. Water seemed to have replaced his muscles.

All that from one kiss. All that from just the _belief_ that he might have lured Potter into bed, never mind the disaster that would have followed if he did.

Potter’s strength of will had kept him from surrendering. Only Potter’s. It wasn’t something Draco could have done on his own, and he knew it.

Humiliation washed through him in exquisite waves. The Mudbloods who had cast this curse on him had known what they were doing. There was no one Draco would have rather stayed away from with this weakness on him.

And even in the midst of knowing that, of wanting, intellectually, to recoil from Potter as far as he could get, he was hungry for the sight of him. It would have been easy to turn around and go back into the lab, pretending that he simply wanted to have a few more minutes of conversation.

Draco had actually turned around again before he managed to place strong reins on his will. He finished climbing the stairs and went to his bedroom, telling himself that he didn’t feel _stretched_ , as though he had left part of his soul behind, that he didn’t feel hungry and parched and in need of a single glass of cool, reviving water.

He undressed and lay down in the bed that Potter had assigned him, which was comfortable enough. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

It didn’t come until he had touched his cock and brought himself off to the remembered image of Potter’s green eyes wide and surprised, and the wholly imagined one of Potter’s mouth stretched around his cock. The curse retreated when he had come, but Draco could feel it still, hooking iron claws into his stomach.

He shut his eyes and went to sleep. _I hate this_ repeated over and over in his head until the merciful darkness came.


	3. Third Time's The Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“But, really, Harry. _Malfoy_?”

Harry rolled his eyes tolerantly and turned back to cooking breakfast. Hermione hadn’t said anything but variations on that line since she’d stepped through his door. She hadn’t come over just to chat, either. She’d already heard that he’d been seen with Malfoy at St. Mungo’s. Harry thought that ought to have prepared her for the confirmation that Malfoy was here.

Or at least, the first half-a-dozen confirmations. Harry hoped the smell of eggs would summon Malfoy out of bed soon. Hermione seemingly wouldn’t believe this until she got a look at him for herself.

“Yes,” Harry said, and reached over to check the bacon, already cooked, that was waiting under a Warming Charm. He smiled when he felt the heat against his hand and started paying attention to the eggs again. “You know that he’s a pure-blood, and that makes him a prime victim of Muggleborns who want revenge for what happened during the war.” He gave Hermione an intense look.

Hermione sighed and stared at the floor. “Can I help it that I sympathize with one side over the other?” she asked. “No, I agree, using that incantation on any person whatsoever is a crime, and it should be punished. But I can understand the intense anger that might drive someone to use it.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s the difference between us, Hermione. I don’t care about the emotion and whether or not someone understands it. There’s still a difference between feeling something and acting on it. If I think about bashing your head in, fine. If I actually did it, then I would be brought up under a charge of murder.”

Hermione blinked. “That reference to bashing my head in wasn’t random, I take it.”

“No.” Harry lifted the eggs’ pan away from the fire and began to arrange them on the three plates he had standing ready. “He really is here, and he really is under the spell that I said he was under, and I really am going to help him.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, with a dubious look. “But I think it’s a bad idea.”

“Because of the way we used to hate each other?” Harry yelped as he burned his finger on the side of the pan, and cast a minor healing charm on the burn before Hermione could fix it. She put her wand away with a disgruntled expression. “It’s unusual, yeah, but the Healers had already given up on him. You could see it in their eyes. If I hadn’t helped him, then probably no one would have.”

“I didn’t even mean that,” Hermione said, and fell silent, forehead wrinkled, apparently because she was trying to figure out what she _did_ mean.

“Tell me when you know what you’re trying to say,” Harry advised her, and looked down the corridor towards the bedroom he had given Malfoy, wondering if he should go wake him up.

Then Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, so it seemed that the smell of the eggs had done its work after all. But Malfoy had clothes on only from the waist down, and his gaze was fixed on Harry with a glaze that Harry had already come to recognize from last night.

He raised a hand to Hermione, who had risen to her feet with an exclamation. “Don’t,” Harry warned her. “The spell seems to work like this, seize him the way that—I don’t know, the way that you might suddenly come down with a bad headache. He wants to hold back, but he has trouble doing it.”

“I want you, Potter,” Malfoy said. His voice was strained, hard as marble, and Harry thought he was working to hold back the anger that otherwise might have prevented him from saying anything at all.

“I know,” Harry said. He stepped towards Malfoy and flicked his wand once, draping a thick barrier of blue light between him and Hermione. It still let her see a bit of what was happening, so she wouldn’t panic and think Malfoy was murdering him, but it also preserved Malfoy’s dignity. And Harry’s, for that matter, though he wasn’t as concerned about that in front of a woman who had held his head while he vomited. “You can have me if you need to.”

*

Draco had to close his eyes when he felt the thrum of the relief traveling through him from Potter’s words. The curse seemed to want willing compliance from the object of desire, which made no sense to Draco. Given that it would drive him to rape Potter if he resisted Draco’s advances, why should it matter whether Potter lay back and thought of the wizarding world or not?

But such questions became purely secondary considerations when Draco got his hands on Potter’s flesh again. He pulled Potter’s shirt over his head at once, disordering his hair and catching his glasses in the cloth, and pressed their bare chests together. Potter made a small sound when their skin touched.

Draco chose to take it as a whimper. He tugged the shirt up one more time, sending Potter’s glasses flying, because he had to get to Potter’s mouth, too. The sweetness that followed the meeting of their lips made Draco stagger. He wanted to bring his groin together with Potter’s, but he didn’t think he had the strength right now.

He moaned and waited until he was sure Potter’s tongue wouldn’t flick out to touch his. The curse needed more response than this. He trailed a hand down Potter’s chest and found one of his nipples, pinching it.

Potter jumped and tore his mouth free. “Malfoy, what the _fuck_?” he demanded. “Who thinks of doing that?”

Draco smiled, and he had no idea whether the smile was his own or the product of the curse, but it _felt_ like his. “You little innocent,” he said. “No one’s ever done that to you?” He touched his tongue to Potter’s neck next, discovering what his soap tasted like and the scent of his shampoo.

“No,” Potter said, with a thoughtful tone that proved the academic side of the question was seizing his attention again. “I wonder why the curse makes you think things like that?”

Draco snorted in disgust and tightened his teeth on Potter’s throat, worrying it hard enough to make Potter gasp and lift a protesting hand. Draco moved back just enough to breathe on the marked spot and murmured, “That’s something I always knew about. Don’t put it in your files. I’ve had male lovers before, and I’ve pinched their nipples. This curse can’t add knowledge I don’t have. It only draws on the sexual instincts I do.” He looked around for a place to lay Potter down. Speaking of sexual instincts, he badly needed Potter beneath him.

“That’s important,” Potter said, and his hand twitched, apparently looking for the notebook that was never far away.

Either the curse or Draco was annoyed at the way Potter was disregarding his presence; once again, he honestly wasn’t sure which one it was. If he _had_ to make love to Potter, Potter could pay him the tribute of acknowledging his existence. “Never mind that now,” he said shortly, and this time slid down so that he had a knee propped on one of the chairs. That way, he could take Potter’s nipple in his mouth.

Potter did stiffen this time, and in more than one way, his breath quickening. Draco could feel the chest beneath his hands heaving. He smiled and bit down.

Potter cried out. Then he stepped away from Draco and lifted a barrier of blue light between them when Draco tried to pursue.

Draco swallowed. He noticed for the first time that another barrier of blue light closed off the end of the kitchen and that there was someone pounding on it, but the thought couldn’t cling to the surface of his brain. What _mattered_ was that he was parched and empty the instant Potter left him. He reached out, despite knowing that his hand would rebound from the barrier.

“Potter,” he said. He hated the way his voice frayed. He had to speak anyway. “Let me through.”

“It was getting to be too much,” Potter said. “Not for you, for me. I got distracted and started thinking more about what I felt than about the process of observing you and taking notes on your condition. I’m sorry.”

He sounded so perfectly sincere that Draco knew he _had_ to be speaking the truth. It didn’t matter to his body. Draco had started to make a series of unpleasant discoveries, which was how he learned that a cock _could_ be hungry, something he had never known before.

“Please,” Draco said. The faint sound of fists drumming on the other barrier reached him again, and left. He touched the barrier between him and Potter with a hand that he knew would form into a fist if he let it go long enough. He had to avoid that if he could, avoid turning into the madman that he knew lurked just under the surface of his mind. “Please, let me touch you. Just a few minutes more.”

Potter gave him a level look through the blue light. Draco had never imagined that, either. If he had ever envisioned something remotely like this situation—which he never had—than he would have thought he would be the rational one, understanding the limitations and meaning of the curse, and Potter the one who wanted to leap impulsively into bed. Draco’s mouth watered the more, and he did end up clenching his hands into fists. What else could he do?

“Do you know what will happen if we sleep together?” Potter asked. “Do you remember?”

Draco’s mind jerked to a halt, caught by the notion of sleeping together. It warped the world around it, that idea, so beautiful and so radical that the ache between Draco’s legs eased a little. “Could we?” he whispered. “Potter, please?”

He should be disgusted that he was begging. The disgust hit his mind like raindrops against glass and slid away again.

Potter shook his head. “I thought you might not remember,” he said, which was cruel, because how _could_ he expect Draco to remember anything so silly when Draco’s brain hummed with the vision he had just summoned? “If we sleep together, then your hunger will get worse.”

Draco flinched. “Worse?” he whispered. “How could it possibly—it can’t.”

Potter’s eyes were full of compassion now. “I don’t know. I can’t feel it. But it will, and I’m not willing to make that sacrifice. It would be rape, on one side or both. I won’t let you.”

“Of course I don’t want to rape you,” Draco said soothingly. Was he speaking with his voice, or was the curse? He didn’t know. He began to pace along the barrier of blue light, pretending to keep one eye on Potter, although he was really studying the barrier. There had to be a weak spot somewhere. “I want to fuck you. That needs your permission.”

“ _I_ would be a rapist if I slept with you when you’re like this.”

Draco halted in place and laughed aloud. Potter’s delicacy deserved no other response. “You wouldn’t be,” he said. “I accept it. I invite it. I give you permission to do whatever you want with my body.”

Potter’s face half-crumpled. Draco didn’t know why. Wasn’t he capable of imagining, the way Draco was right now, the beauty and the brilliancy that would come from them sleeping together? Draco had never thought him _that_ innocent. “You don’t—oh, Draco,” he said, and his voice was soft with what sounded like tears. “You really don’t remember right now, or it doesn’t matter to you.” He fell silent, frowning, as if he contemplated a problem that had no solution.

Draco decided that, yes, he was the more imaginative one at the moment, and that meant it was his duty to show Potter the way. He leaned against the barrier and smiled at Potter. “Step one. Remove the barrier. Step two. Get naked. Step three. We fuck. You see, it’s very simple.”

Potter didn’t pay attention to him, instead standing there with his eyes closed and his lips moving. Draco studied a point in the barrier that looked like the edge of a faceted jewel. He thought he could break it, that it was a weaker fold of magic than the rest. And he _had_ to break it. He was so hungry. Potter wouldn’t expect him to stay across the room from a loaded buffet table when he was starving, would he?

On the other hand, Draco had already seen what Potter’s delicate and refined sensibilities looked like.

Someone from a distant room was crying out and hammering on a wall with their fists. Draco could hear them, and he wished they would stop. He aimed his wand at the facet and murmured, “ _Confringo._ ”

The barrier shuddered, but didn’t fall apart. Draco cursed mildly. At least he knew he could affect it. That helped to lower the anxiety thrumming through him. He would get through it in a moment.

Then Potter jabbed his wand at Draco through the barrier. Draco opened his mouth and flapped his tongue back and forth, attempting to show how good he could make it for Potter.

“ _Aqua alsia,_ ” Potter murmured.

It felt as though someone had just dumped a tub of freezing cold water right over Draco’s head.

*

Harry winced as he watched Malfoy spluttering and dancing on the other side of the barrier. The Cold Shower Curse didn’t involve the literal application of water, but it did force the victim’s libido into submission for up to seventy-two hours. It was painful and disorienting, and it would surely contribute to the embarrassment that Malfoy would already feel because of the situation.

The dangerous, unstable, mad situation. Harry shuddered a little. He had seen the look in Malfoy’s eyes. It went beyond the normal level of desire that people focused on him because he had saved the world and so they wondered what fucking him would be like. This was the level Harry had seen in the eyes of people who really believed that they and Harry were destined to be together, and that they had to kill anyone else who came near him.

There were no words for the horror of that, for the fact that _Nova Cupditas_ had already forced Malfoy that far in the direction of insanity. Harry shook his head, avoided the other man’s eyes as he looked up, and then turned and removed the barrier that kept Hermione away from him. He knew that she had almost cracked it anyway, and that he would hear about it if she had to smash through rather than have him lift it.

Hermione stepped into the main part of the kitchen and looked at Malfoy where Harry couldn’t. Her expression was tightly controlled, her voice low. Someone listening to her from a distance, distinguishing the tone but not the individual words, would probably think she was perfectly calm. “Harry. You have to call St. Mungo’s. Now.”

“No,” Harry said. He had known the conversation would go there when Hermione saw the effects of the curse. He was prepared.

Hermione didn’t look much less wild than Malfoy. “Harry. You have _no choice._ He’s dangerous. I saw you. If you hadn’t been perfectly ready for him, he could have raped or killed you. And I would have stood on the far side of that wall, helpless to help you.” Her hands clenched around her wand. Harry winced again. He knew that not being able to help one of her friends was her biggest nightmare. He’d inadvertently made it come true this morning. “You have to—you can’t take care of him by yourself.”

“Do you think the Healers at St. Mungo’s would be any gentler?” Harry asked her. “Do you think that they’d use less than fatal curses to stop him, if they thought him a danger? There are people there who have still never managed to forget that some pure-bloods were Death Eaters, and plenty of others who think that pure-blood _means_ Death Eater. No, Hermione. They’d lock him up in some room like an animal, or try to perform experimental cures on him that won’t do anything to help—”

“Nothing can help this curse,” Hermione interrupted. “I’m sorry, Harry. But that’s the way it is. If you admit that now, to yourself and Malfoy, then you’ll be a lot less disappointed when the time comes.”

Harry shook his head.

“ _Harry._ ” Hermione was leaning over him, using the inch or so of height she still had on him to good advantage. Her hand would leave fingerprints on his arm, Harry knew. “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

“I know how to take care of my own heart, Hermione,” Harry said, and turned to nod to the door. “I’m sorry that I’ll have to send you off without breakfast, but I think it’s best if you go now.”

“Harry. No.” Hermione planted her feet as if she thought he might try to shove her out the door by main force.

“I wouldn’t have taken Draco into my house if I thought I couldn’t help him,” Harry said. He would call Malfoy Draco now. There should be one person in the world who thought of him that way, one person who hadn’t given up on him. “I’ll help him, and in the end, if I really can’t, then I’ll ask him what he wants to do.”

Hermione gave a glowering look at the barrier where Draco stood with his head in his hands. “By then, he won’t want to do anything except fuck you.”

Harry shook his head. “There are other things that can give the victims of this curse back their minds, for a short time. I’ll give his back to him and ask what he wants. And I’ll perform it, whatever it is.”

Hermione’s gaze snapped back to his face as though someone had slapped her. “What if he asks you to kill him?”

Harry took a breath that rattled against the sides of his throat. “He might, I reckon. Some of the pure-bloods are like that. Then I’ll do it.”

“You can’t, you can’t, Harry, _please_ —”

Tears were getting into Hermione’s eyes, and Harry winced again. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to discuss anything with her while she was like this. He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly towards the door. “You need to go,” he told her. “I’m sorry, but you do. When we can speak about this rationally, then I’ll come and visit you, all right? Go for now.”

He didn’t think she would have if Draco hadn’t lifted his head then. Hermione was smart enough to see into the open wounds that were his eyes. She bowed her head back, in what Harry liked to think of as a nod of acknowledgment or tribute, and then turned and opened the door, fleeing.

In a way, it was what Harry would have liked to do himself. But he had promised that he would see this through, and he intended to do. He stood there, rubbing his head for a few minutes, and then took a deep breath and lowered the barrier.

“The food should still be good, if you want it,” he told Draco, taking a quick glimpse to the side to confirm his words. Yes, it would need Warming Charms, but it hadn’t spoiled. He waved his wand, and the bacon hissed and spit again and the eggs steamed. He nerved himself, to turn and meet Draco’s gaze. “Are you hungry?”

*

“Don’t ask me that question, Potter.” Draco hadn’t known his voice could get that low. It sounded as if he was speaking out of a tomb.

Potter closed his eyes to hide what Draco thought was an upwelling of pain and compassion, and then nodded. “Right. It’s not fair. Well, there’s food there, if you want it.” He turned to get his own bacon and eggs.

It was a long moment before Draco moved in to do the same thing, and then he limped. His muscles ached with the suddenness of the curse’s leaving. The Cold Shower Curse had done what nothing else could at the moment: given him back his capacity for thought by taking away his capacity for lust.

It was still a savage thing to do, and by the careful way Potter kept his back to Draco, he knew that.

_But what else could he have done?_

Draco shook his head. Now that he knew who had been in the kitchen—Granger, and why had she stood so near Potter and touched him that way? There was a black whirlwind in Draco’s chest when he asked those questions—he was doubly humiliated. Of all the people to lose control in front of…

He had heard what she said. The barrier didn’t prevent the passage of sound. He had been sure Potter would agree with her. What kind of person could stand being attacked by a crazed houseguest every day?

Potter’s answers had filled Draco with humility. Unlike humiliation, that wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with.

He watched Potter’s back furtively as he ate. One thing hadn’t changed, although the curse seemed to have left him alone, for the moment: the food still tasted uncomplicated to him, or rather the taste didn’t matter. He was hungry for other things, which was why it wasn’t fair for Potter to ask him about food. Draco would eat because it would help him stay alive, and he was determined to do that and beat his enemies. But asking him to take pleasure in it was impossible now.

What kind of person not only put up with the attacks, but asserted that he would do anything possible to help Draco choose his own end?

_If it comes to that._ Draco swallowed a mouthful of ashy eggs. _Let us hope it does not come to that._

But Potter…

Draco experienced a strange blank feeling inside himself. It wasn’t the relentless lust of the curse; it wasn’t the more familiar mixture of contempt and impatience with which he thought about Potter; it wasn’t even that black whirlwind, which Draco imagined was jealousy, urging him to strike and claim Potter for his own against anyone else who might try to touch him. He didn’t have a name for this emotion, because he had never before met anyone who would help him in the ways that Potter promised to help him, except his family. And that was expected and understood, and Draco had a place in his head to put the emotions. They were _family_. They were part of the same bloodline, the same tradition of glory.

What did he have in common with Potter?

Nothing except that they’d gone to school in the same year and been two terrified boys in the midst of the same war.

Potter turned around and saw him looking. He only nodded. “Do you want to begin another experiment this morning?” he asked.

Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter’s tone implied there was an alternative. “Or?” he asked.

“I thought we might begin to hunt for the people who did this to you,” Potter said quietly. “No, we can’t stop the curse that way, but taking revenge would keep us from feeling helpless, which in turn would make us able to keep fighting the curse.”

Draco stared at him.

“What?” Potter reached up and wiped at the corner of his mouth. “Do I have some egg there?”

“No,” Draco said. He was—how had Potter known that revenge would help Draco?

_The same way he seems to know that the best way to handle my humiliation in front of Granger is not to discuss it._

Of all the people his enemies could have cursed him to desire, he thought, Potter might actually have been the best, not the worst, in a number of ways.

“Let’s hunt,” Draco said.


	4. Fourth Time Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“You can’t remember who you were with?” Harry squinted at the Pensieve that Draco had set out before him. It was strange; as far as he knew, the Pensieve ought to reveal what was really there, not just what Draco remembered, so they should have seen the face of the person he’d gone drinking with. But Harry had seen only shadows in the chairs, the way that he had seen only hoods over the faces of the people who took Draco away, cast the spell on him, and tortured him.

Harry had to clench his fists down on the arms of the chair he was sitting in when he thought of the torture. What the _fuck_ had Draco done to deserve that? What would his accusers say if Harry confronted them?

Then Harry shook his head. He had spoken to fanatics like these before, and he knew exactly what they would say. That Draco deserved it for being pure-blood and having a father who had been a Death Eater. For having the Dark Mark himself. There was no reasoning with people like them.

“No,” Draco said. He was sitting on the other side of the table in Malfoy Manor, watching Harry with a patience that Harry only paid attention to some of the time. He thought he would know when the spell he had cast started to lose its effectiveness and the curse took over again. “It could have been harmless. It could have been part of the plot. Do you want me to ask my friends?”

Harry nodded. “Owl them. I don’t know—I mean, I don’t know if you want to meet them until after the curse has been lifted.”

“If then,” Draco murmured and slung himself out of the chair, pausing in the doorway of the small sitting room to stretch restlessly. Harry found himself admiring the way his back bent, and then his heart clenched again like his hands wanted to. His enemies would have hurt Draco less if they had cut into his back, used acid on his skin, or cut off his fingers, the way they’d intended to. That would have been less a violation of his integrity and his wholeness as a human being.

Harry grimaced and rubbed the nape of his neck. Of course, that was the _point_. _Nova Cupiditas_ was the worst punishment they could think of, so they used it.

Draco disappeared out the door, and Harry once again plunged his head beneath the surface of the memories to review them. He kept hoping that he would catch a detail that Draco hadn’t noticed, or see a careless, characteristic gesture that would lead them straight to the guilty party.

So far, though, it didn’t seem likely. Harry knew that there had been an organized group of Muggleborns leading the attacks on pure-bloods at first, but others had picked up their tactics after they were arrested. This could have been something “official” or a simple grudge against Draco. Plenty of people knew that incantation, after all.

Harry shook his head when he had that thought, though. _No. The auditory glamour and the fact that they knew that specialized Stunning Spell bespeaks a certain level of organization. This was deliberate, and they might take advantage of what they think is his helplessness and try again._

Harry’s hand tightened on his wand. _They might try._

*

Draco tapped his wand sharply against the simple letter he had written, and all at once there were four copies of it, the new three springing into being and then lying on the table with a bright, helpful shine, as if to ask whether there was anything else they could do for him. Draco hastily signed each one, and then wrote a different name at the top, after “Dear.” He had to work a bit to crowd Theodore’s name into the small spot. Pansy, Blaise, and Greg all had shorter names, after all.

He called the post-owls from the Owlery at the back of the Manor and tied the letters to their legs, listening and feeling all the while.

So far, the curse was silent at the back of his mind.

_Thank Merlin._

Draco didn’t know how long it would be that way. He knew that he enjoyed the clear race and flash of his thoughts, and the way that he could walk away from Potter and feel no more than the usual faint tinge of concern that Potter might get into his books or break the elegant crystal heirlooms he’d left behind—and potentially unsafe—while he wasn’t looking. He could think of Potter as a person, not a force.

_Or a dessert._

Draco shuddered as he tied on the last letter, the one to Pansy, and watched the owl flying out the window. He had thought he hated it when the curse was driving him forwards against his will to touch and fondle Potter, but the thought of what had happened that morning—his will gone, his concentration on rolling Potter beneath him—disturbed him more.

_I have to find a way out of or around that. I can’t go on surrendering like that. I didn’t even try to fight._

Of course, he knew other people would say that he _couldn’t_ have fought, that the curse wouldn’t permit it. But all Draco knew was that his mind had drowned the moment he woke up, alone, in a strange bed and thought about Potter just down the corridor from him in the kitchen.

Potter was trying to help him. Very well. Potter had done the impossible before now. Draco would aid him with his research and hope that Potter’s luck held.

“Draco? What are you doing? The house-elves have told me that _Harry Potter_ is here, of all people.”

Draco spent a moment staring out the window at the treetops swaying and dipping in a brisk wind before he grasped his courage and turned around.

His mother stood in the doorway, one hand holding a pale sleeping robe shut around her, a faint frown on her face. She had obviously come straight from bed, given the rucked-up state of her hair. Draco strode across the room to take her hand and kiss it. He thought he could manage that much. Something dark squirmed at the bottom of his stomach when he thought of kissing her cheek the way he usually did.

Despair trembled in his throat when he felt that. He had hoped that he would have the full three days free of sexual desire that the Cold Water Curse usually promised, but it didn’t seem likely.

“Something has happened,” his mother said, glancing at his face and seeming to understand that right away. “Draco, what is it? Please tell me.” She closed her eyes for a moment as though to hold back tears, though Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mother weep. Even during the horrible year when they’d been trapped here by the Dark Lord, she was far more likely to sit still for hours, head bowed and hands clenched—which was frightening in another way. “What is it?” she repeated a few seconds later, in a stronger voice.

Draco took a deep breath and guided her over to a couch, letting her sit down as though it was all her own decision. She winced when her legs made contact with the couch, though they had no hard furniture in the house, and tilted her head back so that she could look him in the eye.

“Someone—I don’t know who, but we’re trying to find out—cast _Nova Cupiditas_ on me,” Draco said. “They did it to make me desire Potter.”

Once again, as she had during that year, his mother went still. Draco glanced away and stared hard at the fireplace, eyes burning, until Narcissa cleared her throat and seemed inclined to return to herself. “Why is he _with_ you?” she asked. “I know that constantly seeing the object of the curse only increases the desire to touch it.”

“Because he’s helping me,” Draco said. He felt unequal to looking at her right now. He concentrated on the lines that divided the marble blocks of the fireplace instead, and tried to remember if he had ever seen flames that weren’t magical—and thus produced ash or cinders—lighted there. “He’s a magical researcher, working on seeing the signatures of spells. If he can see this one, then he thinks he might be able to figure out a way to destroy it.”

“There’s no way to do that.”

“Not that anyone knows about,” Draco admitted, finally turning back to her. She sounded as though she needed more help right now than he did. “But we’re trying to find one anyway. He’s already given me more relief than I thought possible, by laying the Cold Water Curse on me, and he’s—accommodated my needs in a way that leaves me with my mind and yet leaves him able to function, too. He’s been more helpful than I had any reason to believe he would be.”

Narcissa bit her lip and drummed her hand on her lap for a moment. Then she said, “When the end comes, Draco, as it will, what will you do?”

Draco drew in his breath. He knew that his mother dealt with crises by facing the worst from the beginning and staring it in the face, but at the moment, he would have been grateful if she had chosen some other method of coping. “Potter and I are trying to prevent that from happening.”

She shook her head. “You can’t. What will you do?”

Draco hissed between his teeth. He couldn’t blame her, because he understood this impulse too well: never show your enemy that you were harmed by the blow, but face them with pride even as you bled to death. He had chosen life, though, and it disheartened him to realize that she thought his choice stupid. “Potter has offered to kill me, if I have too much—hunger—at the time to render my choice rational. Or to give me back my mind and let me choose.”

“Good,” his mother said, and smoothed her hands across the front of the robe again, staring at the wall. “I will tell your father slowly.”

Draco grimaced. That was another conversation he didn’t want to think about. His father had all but retired from the world, and it might kill him to hear that his son was a victim of the same corrupt process that had destroyed others’ lives. But it would kill him more to have the knowledge kept from him. He _lived_ through Draco, now. Draco’s successes and failures were the only future that he would ever have.

_And now, that’s no future._

“I’m going back to Potter,” he said abruptly, standing up. “You can come with me, Mother, if you like. I think he might want to meet you.”

His mother shuddered and glanced to the side. “I hope not,” she murmured. “I need time to absorb this, and his helpfulness, as essential as it appears to be for you, would be poison for me.”

She headed out of the room, Draco’s glance tracking her in frustration. Yes, he could _understand_ what she was going through; he could feel sympathy for it. But at the same time, he wished she had been able to think that this was less than hopeless and encourage him to choose life instead of death.

_Is it the war that’s made her and Father this way?_ Draco wondered, heading back through the library to the sitting room where he’d left Potter. _Ready to give up their lives, and my life, to maintain an appearance of pride? Or is that just a code of values that I never learned, first because they spoiled me too much and then because the war changed everything?_

He didn’t know the answer to that question. There was another one that mattered more, and the answer to _that_ one was branded along his bones.

He would choose life, as long as he could. He would cling to his mind and his reason, and he would throw it back in their teeth, the death that they all wished him to die.

*

“No luck?”

Draco’s voice was quiet. Harry glanced at him quickly to make sure that he was both near the door, the way his voice sounded as if he was, and that his eyes weren’t glazed, and then smiled a little.

“No, unfortunately,” Harry said. He picked up the thick book that rested on the table beside him. “But I did learn a few things about the curse that I hadn’t known before. I think I might be a bit closer to figuring out how to defeat it.”

Draco stayed motionless for a few seconds, then snorted and strode across the floor towards him. “Oh, yes. Of course. No one else has managed to defeat this curse since it was first cast, but you can learn how in a few minutes of reading. Arrogant, aren’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He already knew how Draco operated. If Harry acted modest, then he would just say the modesty was false. Harry kind of hoped that the curse was stirring up Draco’s self-protective instincts at the moment, because he would be intolerable to be around if he was like this all the time.

Then Harry shook his head. He didn’t have to be around Draco when he was normal, he reminded himself. Just concentrate on getting him there and then leave him alone with best wishes and a fond backwards glance. Then he could go back to working on revealing charms for _Finite Incantatem_ and try to forget that Hermione had ever seen him molested in his kitchen.

“None of those researchers had my knowledge,” he said. “I told you this was a new field. Look.” He turned the book towards Draco and tapped the paragraph he’d noticed.

Draco read it. Harry watched him, trying to gauge his feelings from as much of his face as he could see in profile. His lips were tight, his cheeks pale, and his hand clenched on the edge of the table in a way that told Harry he was getting steadily more upset.

Then Harry winced. Maybe it wasn’t the best or most sensitive thing to have Draco read about the curse that was tormenting him.

“Yes,” Draco said at last, stepping back and shaking his head. “I don’t see anything there that’s new. What did it tell you?”

_At least he’s willing to accept that it told me_ something _, instead of thinking I’m mad._ Harry had grown used to much less generous reactions since he started researching spell signatures. He took the book back. “That sentence about the way that the curse sinks into your skin when it’s cast. I know other spells that do that. The research can go in a new direction, focusing on what I know about them. Maybe I can find a solution that applies to them which would also apply to this curse.”

“Ah.” Draco rapped his fingers on the table for a minute, then shoved back from it and stalked around the room. Harry grew dizzy watching him. The room had both pale walls and pale shelves of some soft, elegant wood, maybe birch, that Draco nearly matched in the color of his clothing and his hair. Harry didn’t think the place had been made with people trying to separate Malfoys from their furniture in mind. “But this doesn’t get any closer to the attackers who cast the spell on me.”

“No,” Harry had to admit. He closed the book. He’d take it with him, since no one in the Manor could possibly have more need of it than he did. “You want revenge first?”

Draco turned and stared at him, eyes wide. They had a different shine to them than they did when he was intent on fucking, Harry thought, and it wasn’t only the lack of the glaze the curse tended to put there.

_Yech. Under things I never wanted to know about Draco Malfoy…_

“Revenge might be the only concrete thing _I_ can contribute to,” Draco said, carefully pronouncing each word. “Of course I want it first.”

“You contribute a lot just by being willing to let me cast spells on you,” Harry said. “I couldn’t do this research if you were staying in a separate house or if you ran every time I leveled my wand at you. Although I can’t blame you if you want to, after the Cold Water Curse.”

Draco grunted. “Considering that it’s the only reason I can think right now, I’ll forgive you for that one.” He showed Harry a thin smile. Harry didn’t know why he smiled back, given that Draco looked as if he intended the expression to cut.

“What _I_ want to do now,” Draco continued in a deceptively gentle voice, “is go to the place where they took me, and look for clues.”

Harry blinked. “I thought you didn’t know where that was.” Otherwise, surely, it would have been a lot easier for Draco to find his attackers on his own, and he would have done it the moment he was cursed.

“I have a way to find out.” Draco’s smile widened, and he took a step forwards, with a challenge in his stride that Harry recognized from Hogwarts. Draco wasn’t falling back under the curse’s influence, at least right now. He was just gleefully watching Harry to see if he would back away from whatever this challenge implied. “Unless you mind some blood magic.”

“It depends on who you torture for it,” Harry retorted, and tried not to think about some of the things he had learned in Auror training.

“I would ordinarily use my own blood,” Draco said, with the corner of his mouth twisting up now. “Although there are certain pure-bred moralists who would shriek even at that. Most of them have names beginning with a W. Are you going to run away and tattle to them, Potter, if I use it and you help me?”

Harry winced. He shouldn’t have forgotten that the real Malfoy was still there, under the temporarily helpful surface that the curse had created, and that he would delight in creating morally grey situations for Harry to get involved in.

But there was one way that Harry could still take control of this.

“Can you use my blood instead?” he asked. “Then you have a guarantee that I won’t run off and tell the Weasleys.”

Draco gulped air and stared at him. Harry stared back, wondering if he should feel _quite_ as happy that he had nearly managed to make Draco swallow his tongue.

“You—mean that,” Draco said. “Even without knowing what I’m going to do with it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What, should I have said my approval was contingent on your intentions? I didn’t think I needed to spell that out, that you were more than intelligent enough to grasp it.”

Draco shook his head. He seemed caught up in a dream, at least if the slow way he blinked and studied Harry was any indication. Harry looked back and waited for him to make up his mind.

“No,” Draco said at last. “It has to be my blood, because I’m the one with the curse bound to me, and I’m the one they kidnapped. My body should still have a link to that place, if only because that was where the curse was cast, and where I rested on the grass for a little while.”

Harry nodded. “Fine. What do we need to do?”

*

Draco eyed Potter sideways as he poured the final three drops of blood from the cut on his arm into a vial and held it up. He’d tried this once already, and it hadn’t worked. That was when Draco knew that he couldn’t simply prick a finger and use the blood from there. He had to go deeper, cut wider, show that he was serious.

Potter simply leaned against the wall of the potions lab where Draco had decided to work, since it was more sterile in here than in most of the house, and watched him. Draco didn’t think he could call the tension in Potter’s face boredom, but it was as close as he could come without being indifferent to the ritual, Draco thought.

He had been willing to use his own blood. Or at least, willing as long as it was for something that didn’t violate his Gryffindor morals.

Draco shook his head and focused on what he was doing. He thought the last attempt to cast the spell had failed, at least in part, because he was thinking too much about Potter and not enough about the magic in front of him. He turned his eyes down again and watched the vial until he was sure that the blood had settled evenly. He tapped his wand against the glass a few times to coax clinging drops down off the sides and into the rest of the blood at the bottom.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Potter nodded and shifted to the side, drawing his wand. Draco could have done this himself, but it was easier when he had someone to cast the background, preparatory spells, while he could concentrate on what needed to be done with the blood.

While Potter cleaned the table from Draco’s last attempt, cleaned the silver bowl that Draco would be using, and separated the grains of salt to examine them and discover any impurities, Draco closed his eyes. He thought as hard as he could about the night of the curse, about the place where his enemies had brought him, about the grass beneath his body and the smell of the fire in his nostrils. Of course, he’d been concentrating more on their voices and what he could see of their faces, but he still recalled a lot. The horror had imprinted most of the details of that night in his memory.

“ _I will_ ,” he whispered, his promise to the blood, focusing on the fact that he had spilled this because he considered something worth more than even the blood that flowed in his veins, and then upended the vial over the silver bowl.

The blood cascaded down, hissing. It hit the silver and burst into fire, messy black flames with a stink of burning meat in the middle of them. Draco shaded his eyes with his bandaged hand and scooped up the bowl of salt, upending it into the flames in turn. They spat and burned even more fiercely. Silver and salt were symbols of purity. Combined with the blood spilled for a Dark magic ritual, they would react with an intense opposition.

But out of that opposition, combined with the fact that he had used his own blood and chosen to sacrifice it, Draco was hoping to see results.

This time, he did. The smoke rose into the air and, slowly, formed itself into a series of concentric rings, growing larger and larger as they traveled further out. Draco watched them, chest having, and soon they stopped spreading. Near the border of the outermost ring and the second-outermost one, a dot appeared. Draco found that he was zooming towards the dot although he stood still.

The impressions flooded his senses. Trees, grass, a small hill, and the sound and smell of stagnant water nearby. Draco turned around, wondering if he could spot a sign or something else that would tell him the name of the place, but it didn’t matter. He had more than enough for Apparition coordinates.

When he opened his eyes, the image remained shimmering in front of them, a temporary effect, but one that would ensure they reached it more easily. He held out a commanding arm, and Potter hastily stepped forwards to loop his hand through Draco’s elbow.

“Hang on,” Draco said, his voice strained and tight.

The air around them rippled and popped, tearing open in a jagged rent. Draco bowed his head and breathed on the center of the tear.

The magic picked them up and whirled them through space. Draco rode it with his heart beating fiercely in his throat and Potter’s flesh smelling good right under his nose.

_I am going to find you, you bastards. And I have things that I can do to you, too._


	5. Five Fingers on a Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry caught his breath and looked around. The place they were standing wasn’t particularly desolate; it had some trees and the ground rose beneath his feet. He could hear the restless sound of wind on water somewhere near, too. It was probably a place that a lot of people would like to live.

But for some odd reason, it made him feel as if he had ice water in his vertebra. He drew his wand and turned in a circle, trying at one and the same time to look out for danger and to make sure that he wasn’t stepping on any evidence or clues that Draco might need.

Draco had already broken away from Harry and was stooping down next to what might have been a firepit. He ran his fingers through the grass there and then cocked his head, listening intently. When a murderer’s smile wrinkled his lips, Harry started to wonder whether this revenge idea had been the best after all.

_This is something Draco needs,_ he reminded himself. _I have to remember what he’s suffering under this curse, and that he might not have listened to or cooperated with me at all if I had tried to deny him. This won’t really change the progress of the curse, but it will make him feel better._

“I thought so,” Draco said quietly. “They couldn’t resist the temptation to have a symbolic fire.”

Harry frowned. He hadn’t heard that phrase either when he was in Auror training or afterwards. “What do you mean?”

Draco turned towards him and extended his hand. His fingers were dotted with ash. Harry sniffed, but had to admit that he couldn’t smell or see anything strange about it. It just looked like the usual thick grey stuff to him. After thinking for a minute, he said so.

Draco shook his head. “Perhaps it was foolish to think you would know it,” he said. “This is Dark magic. They fed the fire with something that would make it burn brighter than normal, to terrify me and to hide their faces even more effectively. You’ll have no night vision left after looking at a fire like that. But there’s something else. The fire itself is an instrument of their vengeance. It’ll make the curses cast that night seem to cut deeper, if not deeper in reality. And it increases the prisoner’s mood of despair.”

Harry blinked. “Are you sure? I thought these were Muggleborn fanatics. It seems strange that they would do something that they would associate with pure-bloods.”

Draco stared at him. “This curse I’m under was originally developed by pure-bloods,” he said, every word cut into the air so sternly that Harry could practically touch it. “Why would they disdain to use something else Dark, as long as it served their purpose?”

Harry had to bow his head in acknowledgment of that, though he disliked it. Draco turned his head away and walked back to the firepit.

“There’s another property that symbolic fires like this have, and one they don’t tend to know,” he added, a leaven of satisfaction in his voice. “The fire holds and reflects the memories of what happened around it that night—and when it burns out, the memory remains in the ashes. That _is_ something that the pure-bloods would be most likely to know.”

He dropped to one knee and swept up more of the ash. Then he reached out a commanding hand without looking at Harry. “This does need blood, Potter, and it doesn’t matter whose. Are you going to prove as good as your word?”

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn’t know why Draco had suddenly turned to challenging and doubting him, unless the sight of the fire and the other clues that Draco was probably spotting around him affected him powerfully by bringing the memory back. But Harry turned and cut into his arm without answering, and then showed the bleeding wound to Draco.

It took Draco a moment to notice. When he did lift his head, his eyes were distant. He seemed to have traveled a long way into himself, although as far as Harry knew, he hadn’t actually cast the spell yet.

“Ah,” Draco said. “There.” And not a word of thanks did he give as he dipped his wand into Harry’s blood and combined it with the ash.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his back to stare out into the countryside again. There was always the chance that he might spot something Draco had overlooked. Besides, he didn’t think he wanted to see what Draco did next.

*

Draco hissed beneath his breath. Potter had grown unaccountably obstinate since they came here. Or perhaps he had started to become that when Draco cast the spell to bring them here. Did he resent that he didn’t get to play a part in that procedure? Of course, it must be unusual for him, with his strange magical field, to see other people having knowledge and performing spells that he couldn’t.

Draco sneered and trickled the blood through the ashes, then tapped his wand against the mixture. It was the use of blood that made this spell complicated; the incantation was quite simple. “ _Flamma_ ,” he commanded.

The ash and the blood between them produced a sound like a cackling laugh and gave birth to a flame rather like the one that had sprung up in the silver bowl from the mixture of his blood and the salt. Draco avoided breathing or touching it by sitting back on his heels and tilting his hands away. The newborn fire splashed into the firepit and grew rapidly.

Draco stared in fascination. He had heard of this spell before, and it was working as promised, but he had never seen it performed. When the flames of the fire froze and turned utterly black, so that the pit seemed filled with shards of obsidian, he quivered and licked his lips.

The glassy flames gleamed with reflections. Draco could see faces he didn’t know coming and going back and forth, and then the image of himself writhing there, his head tilted back as he tried to break free, tried to scream.

He did his best to ignore that part, and focus on the leader, who he remembered as standing back from the fire and to the side. The fire would show everything that had happened in its range, sooner or later, so all he had to do was wait.

_Assuming, of course, that the leader ever took off his hood while he was near the fire._

Draco shook his head. He would try to concentrate on the flames and the reflections that blazed there.

Despite the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Despite the way his fingers shook, which was something that hadn’t happened to him so far. Despite the sudden rush of his breath in and out of his lungs, which made no sense to him and caused him to put a hand, shuddering, over his face.

“Draco?”

Potter was somewhere nearby. That was a good thing. Draco blinked through the sweat and dropped his hand. He wouldn’t be able to see the leader’s reflection in the black flames if he wasn’t _seeing_.

Potter crouched down beside him. He glanced once at Draco, with a frown, but when Draco said and did nothing, he nodded as if to himself and then focused on the flames. He caught his breath. “I never heard of an effect like this,” he murmured. Once again, his hand gave the twitch that seemed to indicate he wished he had a notebook nearby.

Draco stared at him. He had to widen his eyes, he thought absurdly, because if he blinked, then Potter might vanish. So many other people had abandoned him since he was cursed. The Healers at St. Mungo’s. Granger. Even his own mother seemed to think the cause hopeless. Why did Potter stay?

Potter’s face was set as he watched the flames, but he didn’t look away. In fact, he flicked his wand, and letters started to scratch themselves in the grass and sand next to the firepit. His nose wrinkled, and he shook his head. He found the excesses of the people in the flames disgusting, Draco thought. He probably hated the way they had tortured Draco.

He should. He was the only friend Draco had left right now, the only one who _understood_. The only one Draco wanted to touch, or hold, or be near, or speak to in a low voice. The only one he would feel comfortable talking about how he suffered under the curse to. The Healers would say it was hopeless and only ask him how he felt so as to have more information about the curse. His mother would expect him to hide his emotions and die with dignity. Granger…Draco didn’t know Granger well enough to think of what she would have him do.

He blinked his eyes. Sweat dripped into them, but he didn’t know why. The flame, in its present form, was incapable of exuding heat. It couldn’t be affecting him.

“Are you all right, Draco?” Potter looked away from the fire with a frown. He waved a hand back and forth in front of his eyes.

Yes. That was right, Draco thought. He had opened his mouth to say that Potter should watch the images moving in the glass and not worry about him, but he couldn’t say that, because Potter’s attention belonged on him. How could he ever have thought that it didn’t? He blinked, and his eyelashes sawed across his face.

A whip uncoiled in his mind. Suddenly he was filled with roaring heat, and his belly was so empty that it hurt. He curled up with a wordless cry, and waited.

Potter’s hand on his shoulder soothed enough of the hunger that Draco knew what he had to do. He reached up, grabbed Potter’s wand, and hurled it away. He didn’t want to break it, because he vaguely knew that he might want Potter to perform spells later. But he couldn’t let Potter have it, in case he used it to fend Draco off.

Then he pulled Potter to the ground and used his weight to pin him there. He _had_ to have him now, the need all the more savage for being denied.

*

Harry was taken totally off-guard, and told himself that that was stupid. He _knew_ what the curse was, knew that the Cold Water Curse wasn’t likely to last the full three days that it usually did, and knew how important it was to keep an eye on Draco at all times. But still he had let his guard down, and here was Draco writhing on top of him, mouthing at his throat and holding his wrists to the grass with ruthless efficiency.

For a moment, Harry breathed pure fear. He was on the bottom, not as heavy as Draco in the first place, and without the benefits of full Auror training that Ron had had. He was without a wand. He was going to be—

Draco’s hand that wasn’t on his wrists plunged between their bodies and came to rest on Harry’s cock, pulling and massaging in a way that made him writhe with pain. Then it ripped his clothes away.

He knew exactly what Draco wanted, what the curse would make him desire.

Terror and instinct lent Harry the only weapons he could use. He rammed his head up, and his forehead hit Draco in the nose.

Draco shuddered and cried out. The note in his voice was strange, alien—not a sound of pain, Harry realized, but of frustration. Draco cared more about being balked of the prize that he reached for than he cared about being hurt. He was ducking down again a minute later, pulling Harry’s legs apart and trying to sit on them and hold Harry’s hands still at the same time.

But his grip was uncertain, and Harry managed to roll over and catch Draco in the gut with his knee. Draco folded up, groaning. Harry didn’t stay to see if he had badly hurt him. He scrambled for his wand.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ”

_Oh, fuck._

Draco had remembered he had a wand. The only possible comfort to Harry at the moment was the fact that he flung it away in turn as he approached Harry, his hips rolling and his smile confident and hard-edged. Harry gripped the ropes in his hands and tried to rip them up—they could only be attached to the grass, which wouldn’t give them a firm hold—but they stayed in place. Draco dropped down next to him, breathing hard.

“You led me a chase,” he murmured. His face had an ugly flush on it, though Harry didn’t know if that was perhaps because he was seeing it as the face of his rapist. “But I’ll make you love it in the end.” He bent over and stuck his tongue into Harry’s mouth, while his hands went to work ripping Harry’s clothes further open.

Harry bit his tongue, and sank his teeth deep when Draco snarled a curse and tried to rip free. He only had one chance, and he didn’t know if it would work, given that he hadn’t practiced much wandless magic in the last few years.

He channeled as much rejection and power as he could through his teeth. Pain had brought Draco back to his senses before, when Harry forced it into his body. Maybe it would happen this time.

Draco jerked as though someone had shoved him into a pool holding a Muggle telly, and then backed off, breathing wildly while staring at him with what seemed like hatred. Harry spat blood—Draco’s blood—and stared back, hoping it would work.

Then Draco’s face melted into a grin. “I should have guessed that you would like it rough,” he said hoarsely, and reached out to grab Harry’s hair.

Harry tossed his head back and forth, trying to dislodge his grip and think of something else that he could do at the same time. But Draco was being careful this time, and he dashed Harry’s head against the ground as hard as he could the moment he got hold of it.

Stars whirled and burst in Harry’s skull. He gasped and thought that he would faint, but he clung to consciousness by biting his own lip, this time. He was _not_ going to fall unconscious. That would mean being unable to defend himself from Draco. He _would_ come back and free himself. He would _not_ be raped.

But it didn’t seem as though he had much choice in it. Draco had already undone his trousers. His eyes were distant and glazed, but they focused on Harry’s arse well enough. He paused and looked around, apparently distracted because he needed his wand for a lubrication spell, and then shrugged and spat on his fingers.

Oddly enough, it was that which gave Harry the final jolt of fury to struggle more. Having Draco suddenly force his way inside would hurt no matter how it happened, but to think of it happening with only saliva to slick the way was intolerable.

Harry felt a surge of fear pass through him and slam into Draco, the way that he remembered feeling his anger right before he blew up Aunt Marge. Draco went flying and crashed into the ground five feet away. When he tried to sit back up, Harry’s magic grabbed his head and slammed it down in a perfect imitation of the way that he had used Harry’s.

Draco panted as he staggered back up. The glaze in his eyes flickered like a swaying curtain and returned, but Harry thought it was a little thinner this time. “Harry?” he whispered, frowning as though he didn’t understand.

“Draco.” Harry wanted to leap to his feet and run away. He wanted to get in the shower and bathe until he had scraped a layer of skin free. But he kept his voice steady, because being able to do either of those things depended on getting through to Draco. Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to remove these ropes by himself, especially not if he had a concussion. “I don’t want this. It’s the curse taking hold again. Can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Draco’s nostrils flared, and he snapped his head up in a short nod, as though to say that Harry was trying his patience. “Stop treating me like a child, Potter—”

He stopped. But Harry had heard enough to close his eyes in relief. The tone was Draco’s as he knew him, Draco in control of his mind.

“Oh, God,” Draco said in a small voice, terrible to hear.

“Get me out of these ropes,” Harry murmured. He kept his voice neutral, as though Draco had done nothing bad, as though he were merely interested in standing up again. He thought things would be easier on both of them that way.

He couldn’t help it when Draco’s hand came to rest on the ropes; he flinched. Draco stopped and made a low, doubtful sound, rather like a dog Harry had once known at the house next to the Dursleys’ that wouldn’t take food from strangers. Harry rasped a few breaths that made his chest hurt and remind himself that the curse might come back at any moment.

“Use your wand.”

Draco scrambled up and went for it. Harry waited until the ropes snapped away from his limbs. Then he stood up and rearranged his clothes. He didn’t look in Draco’s direction, not wanting to see what he looked like at the moment.

He would in a little while, he told himself as he went to retrieve his own wand. Just—not right now.

*

It was strange, the way Draco remembered it. It was as though he had opened a door in his soul and invited someone he’d never met before, a lustful creature with only fucking on its mind, to come through.

_Not invited,_ he reminded himself when he realized that he was thinking like that. _You didn’t cast the curse on yourself. It’s the fault of whoever did._

Their fault that Potter avoided his eyes now and spoke in clipped tones. Their fault that Potter was careful to keep a constant distance between their bodies. Their fault that Potter was scraping his nails against his skin, the way Draco saw him doing several times out of the corner of his eye, on his face and his chest and his wrists, where Draco had touched him.

Their fault that somewhere under the surface of his mind an eager voice murmured and _valued_ those signs of Potter’s reaction, rather than feeling sick because of them.

“The flames seem to be dead,” Potter said, pointing his wand at the glassy black shards in the firepit but not casting a spell yet. Draco appreciated that, with the third of his mind that was focused on what happened around him instead of on blame or on the thought that Potter might never want to come near him again after this. “Is there any way that we can get the vision back?”

Draco shook his head. Bile clogged his throat. “No,” he admitted. “That spell only works once. We’ve lost the chance to find out who they were—if we ever had it.” He turned away, driving his fingers into his palm, welcoming the pain.

“I wonder,” Potter said. “There was no reason for the Cold Water Curse to fade that abruptly. I saw it happen. I wonder—you said that this symbolic fire strengthened curses that were cast near it. Do you think that _Nova Cupiditas_ could have returned suddenly because of that?”

Draco felt a surge of hope pass through him, but in the end, he had to shake his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Or maybe it did happen. We don’t know. _I_ don’t know. Did anything you read about the curse mention that the Cold Water one was usually used to combat it?”

“No,” Potter said, and his voice was gentle, though—Draco couldn’t help thinking—not as gentle as it would have been a short while ago. “I was surprised it worked. I reckon that surprise was the right reaction, rather than being shocked when the curse reasserted itself.”

Bitterness scored his voice. Draco turned swiftly towards him. Potter was picking through the ashes in the pit, his face set in a fierce frown.

“You can’t give up,” Draco said. He wanted to scream at the thought of that happening. It _couldn’t_. “Promise me that you won’t give up.”

Potter blinked and glanced at him. “I’m not,” he said. “But the curse is more powerful and trickier than I suspected. And—” He wrapped his arms around himself and turned his head briefly aside. Draco blinked in turn. He had never seen Potter look lost or abandoned before. If asked, he would have said that it wasn’t a look Potter was capable of.

“Go on,” Draco said. It didn’t sound right when Potter stopped speaking. The air lacked a sound it should have held. Draco found himself wanting to turn his head, as though to catch the last flying echoes of the words in the direction they had passed.

_So even my ears can be hungry for him._

The disgust, mingled with fascination and yearning, threatened to come to the surface again. Draco bent his head and gnawed on his own bitten tongue, which was still bleeding, until the impulse to speak passed.

“I didn’t realize how hard this would be to deal with,” Potter said in a low voice. “I was stupid. Somehow, I thought I would always be prepared when you—came for me.”

“Or failed to come, as it were,” Draco muttered. He should have kept still, he knew. Now wasn’t a time for jokes. But he had to have some means of coping with it, and Potter seemed to do better with that than Draco had expected, the same way he had known that Draco wouldn’t want to talk about what Granger had witnessed.

_How does he understand me so well? The curse doesn’t create a bond of understanding between its object and its victim, or he should have known at once what had happened to me._

“Yes,” Potter said, accepting the joke for what it was. “But I had to realize that you might attack me when I wasn’t ready.” He exhaled hard suddenly, and when Draco dared to look at him, he was shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, startling Draco immensely. “I wish English had better words for things like this. You aren’t the one who attacked me. It’s the curse, using your body.”

“It’s still me,” Draco said. “Speaking with my voice, using my hands. I can’t blame you for being shy of me.”

Potter nodded soberly. “All right. Thanks. But I think—I think we should go back to my house, work on wards and spells that might help with keeping you at bay and giving me some warnings, and then do research.” He glanced at Draco with deep, haunted eyes. “I know you might want revenge, but it will have to wait.”

“I agree,” Draco said, trying to make his words sound like something other than sticks breaking. He reached out for Potter without thinking, to do the Side-Along.

Potter stepped back.

For a moment, they faced each other, unspeaking, in the wind that blew past them. Then Draco said, though his mind and his common sense and what he would have called his conscience if he had one were all against it, “Potter, if you can’t do this—”

“No! Fuck them, I _will_ ,” Potter said. “They can’t do this to you. You still deserve help. But it’ll be a bit longer before I can bear the touches.” He nodded to Draco. “You know enough about my house to get there?”

Draco nodded back. Potter bowed his head and vanished.

Before he followed, Draco stared at his hand, the one that he had feared he would lose fingers from. A few minutes ago, he had seen it wrenching at Potter’s clothes, and his wrists, and his skin.

_Perhaps it would have been better to lose a few fingers than have my control diminished._

And perhaps it would have been better to lose his fingers than to hurt Potter, although Draco had to accept that that was the curse talking. Who was the individual, other than his parents, whom he would sacrifice his body for?


	6. Half a Dozen Precautions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“What wards are you weaving now?”

Harry tensed once, and then told himself that he had invited Draco into his house and he should have revoked his invitation if he had trouble with him being here. “Some of the variations that I’ve learned through my study,” he responded, tapping his wand against the headboard of the bed and employing the spell nonverbally. Perhaps he was being paranoid, thinking that Draco would work out the counterspell to the ward if he heard the incantation, but it didn’t feel like paranoia, not after seeing what the curse could do if pushed.

“Oh.” Draco leaned against the doorframe of his room and watched him. Harry kept his head turned away. Perhaps he was being stupid, but if so, it was the kind of stupidity that would help them both cope and survive—Harry because it lessened his impulse to chase Draco off, and Draco because then he could be closer to Harry than he could if he had to live in a separate house.

And Harry could help him. They _would_ win through and solve this problem, Harry thought. He couldn’t possibly accept another outcome, so that meant the most hopeful one had to happen.

When he turned around, he saw that Draco still hadn’t moved, and his eyes were fixed on Harry’s face. Harry tensed again, but decided, on a second glance, that Draco’s eyes didn’t have the glaze of the curse. Instead, he looked as though there was some profound question he was trying to figure out, on the level of whether Harry was human or not.

“Yes?” Harry asked, keeping his voice calm and even.

“How do you do it?” Draco asked. “I know that I wouldn’t be able to remain around someone who had nearly raped me.”

“I’m angrier at the people who did this than I am at you,” Harry said. He thought for a moment, torn between the truth and what he thought Draco needed to hear, and then added, “And at myself, too.”

Draco frowned. “I fail to see what you have to blame yourself for, Potter.” There was an undertone of old bitterness in his voice that Harry felt free to snort at. Draco still seemed to think that Harry had never got in any trouble at Hogwarts, which only proved that he hadn’t spied on McGonagall at the right times.

“Because I didn’t anticipate this,” Harry said. “I trusted too much to the Cold Water Curse, and I’ve read enough about _Nova Cupiditas_ now to know that it couldn’t be defeated that easily. If I give in and accept my first conclusions, then I’ll never make a good researcher, and that means that I’ll never solve your problem, let alone all the other ones that I want to solve in the future.”

Draco blinked once. Then he gave Harry a twisted expression that could have qualified as a sneer or a half-smile. “Cause-and-effect thinking, Potter? Complicated sentences? Whatever will you come up with next?”

“Be glad that I’m as smart as I am, and as settled,” Harry said, brushing past Draco when he headed for the kitchen. He thought they should eat again before they went back into the lab. Yes, Draco wouldn’t want the food when he was hungry for something else, but that didn’t diminish his body’s need for it. “I hate to think what I would have done if they had cast this curse when I was still struggling to throw off my trauma from the war.”

“How did you throw it off?” Draco was following Harry closely enough to grope his arse, although he didn’t touch it.

Harry paused and glanced at him. Draco paused in return, then leaned closer and stared into Harry’s face. Harry had no idea what he intended to see there, what he really saw, or what he wanted to see. “Why does it matter?” Harry asked. “It’s not relevant to the story of what we have to do right now, or the procedures. Let me just say that I can handle this—this—much better than I could otherwise.” He wasn’t going to talk about it in detail if Draco wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Because I want to know.”

He seemed to consider that enough excuse, and offered no other. Harry thought about it as he stepped into the kitchen and summoned the makings of sandwiches. He had enough fresh meat and cheese, courtesy of his frequent shopping trips to Diagon Alley, that he could offer Draco his choice of what he wanted, though Harry knew it didn’t rival the Malfoy kitchen.

Draco once again leaned against the wall and didn’t help him. Harry thought that was less to do with politeness or arrogance than ingrained habit, though. He was used to house-elves serving him, and Harry had taken the place of the house-elves for now. Obviously.

That was what made Harry decide to answer Draco’s question, oddly enough. Draco was seeking to understand him. Well, Harry couldn’t fault that desire, and he thought that Draco would probably trust him more if he did know more about Harry. How many times would he have torn apart from Ron and Hermione if he didn’t know what lay at the bottom of the nagging they gave him or their ridiculous arguments with each other?

“With Hermione’s help, partially,” Harry said. He set out ham, chicken, and beef on a tray and followed it with thin slices of cheddar and Swiss cheese. “She was the one who figured out that I was hurting after the war after all, and persuaded me not to ignore it.”

Draco was so silent that Harry turned around, wondering if he had run into a Malfoy prejudice he hadn’t known about. Draco was staring at him, but there was wonder, not contempt, in his glance.

“It was a _war_ ,” he said. “Of course you would have trauma after it.”

“Ah, but I wasn’t in Hogwarts,” Harry said softly. “I didn’t suffer the torture that you did, or that most of the other students did. I was running and doing something that I knew was worthwhile, as long as it took sometimes.” He wanted to shake his head when he thought of the months they had wasted during the search for the Horcruxes. They would know how to conduct a search so much better now, when they weren’t stupid kids. “And then I only had people who were really close to me die during the Battle of Hogwarts. Well, before that, but that was before the war properly began,” he added. He wasn’t going to talk to Draco about losing Sirius and Dumbledore. He thought Draco would probably prefer it if they left his memories of Dumbledore alone, for that matter. “So I thought that nothing had happened to affect me because it wasn’t as bad as what some other people had gone through.”

Draco did sneer this time. “Of course. Gryffindor nobility at its finest.”

Harry shrugged. “Speaking with Andromeda Tonks helped a lot. She’d lost her husband and daughter, and her grandson is my godson. We bonded over that.” He paused again, because now Draco looked as if he were on the point of passing out with astonishment. “What?”

“Andromeda Tonks is my mother’s sister,” Draco said. “My _aunt_.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And she’s unprejudiced enough to accept me. That’s what you can do when you think that Muggleborns are people, too.”

Draco bared his teeth at him, but Harry thought it didn’t have much to do with what Harry had just said. Draco was thinking. “I didn’t—know that you were in contact with that part of the family,” he said.

“Do you even _consider_ them part of the family?” Harry asked, truly curious. Andromeda had never talked about the Malfoys, so all Harry had to go on with respect to their attitude towards each other was the burned spot on the Black family tapestry. “I don’t think your mother has tried to make contact again.”

Draco thrust his nose up. “Mother can’t simply acknowledge someone that her family chose to disown. There are complexities here, Potter, that you can’t begin to understand, and it would do you good if you didn’t talk about them.”

“Sure,” Harry said. He had known it was a bad idea to tell Draco too much about himself, he thought. He slapped together his own sandwich, of ham and cheddar, and then stepped away and left the rest of the buffet to Draco. “I’ll be down in the lab the minute I finish this. Come along when you’ve eaten.”

Draco glared at him, probably because he had chosen to cut the conversation short rather than listen to anything else. Harry ignored him and ate the sandwich in a few large, chomping bites, almost glorying in the messiness of crumbs flying everywhere, which couldn’t be much like the refined manners around a pure-blood table. It was also a finger to the Dursleys, in a way. Petunia had always acted as if the world would end if someone left fingerprints on a cup or rings from the cup on a table.

When he was done, the stairs to his lab waited to receive him. Harry went down them without bothering to look in Draco’s direction.

*

Draco had fucked up, and he knew it, but it seemed as though there were so many tripwires between him and Potter that he would inevitably end up falling over one of them. This was one of the milder ones, or at least _he_ thought so. Potter’s reaction was not as encouraging.

Draco thought about the subject of their conversation as he ate ashy bread and meat that had no taste, and eventually came to the conclusion that he hadn’t _necessarily_ needed to snap about Andromeda being his aunt. Potter already knew that. They could have skimmed past it and talked about something else.

But Potter had acted as though his going over to her house for tea was normal, and Draco had had to interrupt because—

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the steps Potter had gone down a few minutes before. He could feel him down there when he concentrated, or even when he didn’t, the curse pointed towards Potter like a compass towards the north. And the desire was there, so much thicker and more satisfying in its way than the food Draco held, like the promise of a feast rather than a mere tiny meal.

He had had to interrupt because the image of Potter associating with a former Black, let alone the grandson of that woman, who was a sort of cousin to Draco himself, didn’t fit with his picture of Potter.

And he needed to know as much about Potter as possible.

Draco licked a crumb of bread from his fingers since no one was around to see, and considered that reaction in turn. Did it come from the curse? Of course, the more he knew about Potter, the more easily he could seduce him. And Draco reckoned his mind could also be hungry.

But this was fairly useless knowledge to have. And all his reaction to it had done was to scare Potter off, so that he would be harder to seduce than before.

Yet for all that, Draco felt like hoarding the knowledge, crouching over it and chuckling. It was something that other people knew about Potter, of course it was, but it was new to _him_. He could hold it and turn it back and forth like a glinting coin, spend the money as he chose and watch out eagerly for what return it would bring to him. His body ached with the eagerness to hint to someone else that he knew this now, and then refuse to tell when they begged him. He could have gone to the papers, but it would be only to drop those hints. He knew he wouldn’t sell what Potter had told him, no matter how minor it was, no matter how much money was offered him in return.

It made no sense, which meant it had to come from the curse. Draco thought he knew what knowledge was worth, and it wasn’t worth—well, this.

He ate his food and went down the stairs. He had been apart from Potter too long, and his cock was starting to swell and point. Draco deliberately didn’t touch it, although it made walking more difficult than normal. He was thinking about the reactions of his mind right now, and not his body. He was going to do that as long as he could, and see if it would help in keeping the curse at bay.

“Malfoy.”

Draco halted and blinked in the door of the lab, struck as by a blow. “Why aren’t you calling me by my first name?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Potter started up from a bench of vials that he was assembling and gave him a strange look. “I assumed that you would prefer a bit more distance from me,” he answered, “after that row we had, and after—well, the curse pushes you closer to me than normal. Calling you by your first name isn’t right, is it?”

Draco shook his head. He knew that his reluctance to hear his last name from Potter’s lips had a mixture of motives, but he didn’t care. He wanted that intimacy again. “Call me Draco. We didn’t have a row. And I need—I need some gesture of acknowledgment from you.” He flushed as Potter continued to investigate him, but what he had spoken was no more than the truth. He _did_ need that from Potter, and he didn’t see why he should have to justify it endlessly.

“All right,” Potter said, without much breath behind the words, and then nodded Draco towards the circle in the center of the lab again.

Draco went, with the curse pulling at his muscles and controlling every step like the jerk of strings. He wanted to go to Potter and put his hands on his shoulders. He could picture himself apologizing for what had happened in the meadow where his torturers had abused him. He would bite the back of Potter’s neck, lightly, just enough that Potter could feel his teeth and tell Draco if he liked it or didn’t like it. After what had happened that afternoon, Draco knew that Potter’s liking was important to him. He could stroke Potter’s jaw from that angle, and whisper more sweet words, and Potter would lean back until he rested against Draco’s chest and say—

“Get off me.”

Draco blinked and stepped back. He didn’t remember crossing the lab to Potter, but he had done so, because Potter had his wand aimed at him. His eyes were hard and steady, sorrow mixed in them with impatience.

“I know it’s hard,” Potter said, and Draco bit his lip against the impulse to turn that into a pun. “But you have to control it if you can. Get into the circle.”

“I want you,” Draco said. His voice scraped along his throat and made him wince. He was hard put to it not to simply reach out and draw Harry towards him. Some treacherous impulse that made his legs quiver with longing said that Harry would be his if Draco could only show him how wonderful it felt when their bodies were fully pressed against each other.

“I know that,” Harry said. His voice was weary. He looked at Draco with compassion and horror and pity, and Draco hadn’t known that mixture of impulses could exist anywhere. “But you _have_ to control yourself, as hard as it is. When you can’t do that, then we’ll know that the curse has advanced another stage, I think.”

“The curse doesn’t have stages in the sense that you’re thinking of,” Draco murmured. His hands twitched like spiders crawling up a web. “Please, Harry.” The hunger swirled around him like the ocean. He was caught up in the current and could only obey it.

Harry went still for a moment. Then he whispered, in a tone that Draco thrilled to because it showed that Harry was considering their intimacy more closely, “When did you start calling me by my first name?”

“When I realized that I wanted to,” Draco said. The wall was falling! He only had to wait a few more moments, and the curse itself would grant him the patience for that, because of the reward that waited at the end of it. “Harry. Your name feels so good on my tongue.” He paused, but Harry didn’t take his cue and move forwards, so he added, “Your cock would feel better.”

Harry sighed. Even that sound was beautiful, and made Draco envy the air in his lungs. “Draco. Listen to yourself, please. You were calling me Potter an hour ago. This isn’t you. This is the curse’s version of you. Remember that you have a distance to preserve, a dignity to keep up. Remember that, and pull yourself back together.”

“I want you,” Draco said. Somehow this wasn’t working out the way he had envisioned it doing. He could feel his heart swelling in anxiety. He had to make _something_ happen. Why didn’t Harry, who he knew was smart because he had done all this research, take some of the burden off Draco by moving in? “I don’t want to think about the time when I didn’t want you.”

“You have to,” Harry said. “Think about your parents, Malfoy Manor, and the legacy that you fought so hard to preserve. Is this the way that you want to remember it? Do you really want to sleep with someone whom your parents wouldn’t approve of? No. You want to marry a pure-blood witch who can give you a son. You want to hold your blood safe and apart from all Mudbloods.” Harry’s mouth twisted, and Draco made a soft sound. The word pained Harry, and therefore he didn’t want Harry to speak it. “You want to be as cold and calm as a statue of marble. That’s the way you are. I _know_ you.”

“You could know me better,” Draco said. His voice was warm and soft, and he didn’t know what he was saying. A haze seemed to have settled over his mind with Harry’s words, a haze that made sense in one way but also filled his thoughts with flickers of marble walls and bronze, gold and rich tapestries. “Come here and let me touch you.”

“You’re Draco _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said. “If you won’t remember who you are, I will. Your enemies wanted to take away who you are by hitting you with this curse. I won’t let them.”

“If I said that I was happy to give up who I am, for you?” Draco asked. He moved a step nearer. He thought, with his instincts finely tuned by the curse, that Harry wasn’t in the mood to prevent him right now. “Would you still say that I didn’t have any right to do that? I fling away this legacy with both hands.” He mimed doing that, so that Harry would see he was serious, although it made an obscure pain flare deep in his heart. “I’ll give up everything, if you’ll come to me.”

“This isn’t _you,”_ Harry said, and then paused and seemed to think about something. Draco didn’t understand that, when Harry could be thinking about his cock instead, and edged to the side, looking for a way to make him pay attention. His defenses might be weak on the left side, Draco thought. The left had never been Harry’s dominant hand.

Harry pointed his wand at Draco. Draco smiled and dropped his hands to his sides, making no effort to defend himself. He wanted to show Harry that he accepted everything Harry could give him, that he _trusted_ Harry.

“ _Memoria sanguinis_ ,” Harry murmured.

The spell snapped straight into Draco and set his blood fizzing like champagne. He raised a hand and touched his face, expecting to feel that there was a blush on his cheeks. All that blood had to go somewhere, didn’t it?

Then the blood seemed to reach his brain, and suddenly the ghostly images he had been seeing resolved themselves into reality.

He could see the extensive grounds of the Manor. How green they were in the summer, pocked only with spots of white where the albino peacocks strutted and spread their nervous tails. How many hours Draco had spent chasing those peacocks when he was younger, and how his mother had sometimes feared that he would pull out all their feathers before they could grow enough to look beautiful!

There was his private library, which Lucius had given to him the minute he was old enough to show a real interest in books, at eight. Draco had come into the room with his head tilted back and his teeth fiercely locked on his lip so that his mouth couldn’t drop open. He wouldn’t show his astonishment and his gratification, because that would imply that he hadn’t expected this, and Father said that Malfoys should always expect the best. But the shelves that arched up to the ceiling, the leather-bound books that filled them, and the smell of dust, which Draco was already coming to associate with knowledge!

His mother, with her hair carefully piled on the back of her head and a necklace of round sapphires at her throat. His father, with his careful motions and his fierce, proud glare, like a hawk unhooded. All those things were part of his heritage, and Harry was right. His parents would be ashamed of himself for not being in control. Not even the curse should affect him this much.

It was easier to step away from Potter then and walk to the circle. Harry—Potter—sighed and cast the wards that would close the circle around him.

“How did you know that that would work?” Draco had to ask over his shoulder. He was keeping his back to Potter for the moment, so that he couldn’t look him in the face and be tempted to touch him again.

“I didn’t,” Potter said. “It just seemed like it ought to. I wonder if people have created solutions to handle the more dramatic effects of _Nova Cupiditas_ in the past, but they’re so individual that no one’s bothered to record them. That spell probably wouldn’t have worked on someone who wasn’t pure-blood, or someone who valued his family less than you do.”

Draco grunted. He wanted to hide his head in shame, but on the other hand, he really couldn’t help himself. So he settled for standing still instead while Potter cast some more spells and made some more measurements and murmured to himself.

He thought about Malfoy Manor and the way that his mother had refused to meet Potter at all, an expression of pride that she would certainly expect him to imitate.

He wondered, even as he thought it, whether preserving the pride of his heritage was really worth giving up the feel of Potter’s skin.

Even once he realized that thought came from the curse, it wasn’t any easier to ignore it.

*

Harry sighed out. _Finally_ , he was getting somewhere. He had watched the complex effects the curse had on Draco—or maybe it was best to say that he had reasoned them out afterwards, because it was hard to think about them while he under attack—and he had started to think that they were too complex for just one spell. What if _Nova Cupiditas_ was two or more, joined together?

Of course, that didn’t give him an automatic answer, because he didn’t know if it was made of two or three or more yet, and that meant he didn’t know how many spells he would need to cast to see them.

But at least he could test and get a general outline, to confirm his hypothesis. There were other spells, many of them affecting the mind, like Memory Charms, that were made of multiple effects entwined, and he cast the spell that had allowed him to see them in the past. A cloud of gleaming powder, visible only to Harry, blew towards Draco and stuck there like dust hurled at a sticky wall.

And _yes_. There it was. Harry scrambled for his notebook and scribbled down the picture of the sight, as long as he could see it; _Nova Cupiditas_ was strong enough to have begun dissolving the dust almost as soon as it hit.

It resembled an ugly crown in the middle, expanding to jagged puzzle pieces perched on Draco’s shoulders. Tendril after tendril linked the crown to Draco’s brain. Harry couldn’t count them all before the vision began to dissolve, but at least he knew they were different from the puzzle pieces. Two different pieces, then.

And it confirmed that the curse worked from the brain outwards, rather than affecting the body itself, something Harry hadn’t been sure about before.

He opened his mouth to tell Draco that, and then abruptly someone else was in the lab. Harry spun around, wand defensively raised.

It was Ron. Harry relaxed with a little sigh. Ron and Hermione were the only ones who had the key to the wards on his house.

“What is it?” he asked, when he realized Ron’s face was pale and the freckles standing out on his skin.

“I came to protect you,” Ron said, darting a look at Draco. “Hermione told me, and, mate—it’s great and noble and all, but I really don’t think you can do it.”

Harry drew himself up to his height, which he still resented wasn’t more impressive, and lifted his chin. “Would you say the same thing if one of your family was under the curse?”

Ron flushed, but said, “I just think it’s more dangerous for you.” Draco had turned around by this time and was watching them without expression. “I think we should set up a guard to make sure that he doesn’t attack you.” He came closer and reached out to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I trust you. You might be able to solve this. But you need to keep safe to do that, yeah?”

Harry started to answer, but then the lab filled with the sound of shattering wards.

*

When he saw Weasley touching Potter, the jealousy in Draco’s chest, already gathering cold and strong and dark from the moment of Weasley’s intrusion into the lab, went insane.


	7. Attacks Too Numerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry turned just as Draco broke out of the circle.

Which was supposed to be impossible. But when he flung himself against the wards, they parted around him, and Harry realized that Draco’s teeth were locked into a snarl, his hands fisted, his eyes glaring with a passion that it seemed the wards would have worked uselessly to restrain.

_Seemed_ that way, Harry reminded himself harshly as Draco stepped over the circle and aimed his wand at Ron. That didn’t mean it was true, and that didn’t mean that he had to stand here, stupefied, because Draco had exhibited an unexpected magical talent. It was an unexpected talent, or maybe the curse, that had led him to break out of the circle, and Harry was already accustomed to doing something about the curse.

He stepped between Ron and Draco. Ron was making incredulous little noises behind him. Harry feared that. Ron was surprised now, but in a moment he would lash out at the person who had surprised him. Harry had seen that happen before.

Draco halted, twisting his head to the side as though he was confused to find Harry there. As Harry had feared would happen, his eyes were completely glazed with the curse. One hand reached out, fingers hooked, as if he was exploring a brick wall that had appeared in front of him.

_Great_ , Harry thought, as Ron moved restlessly behind him. _I’m the only person in the room who’s not insane with either anger or—well, anger._ “Listen to me, Draco,” he said as calmly and softly as he could. It was a trick he had seen Hermione use more than once, keeping her voice low so that Ron would be forced to be quiet instead of simply shout. “He wasn’t going to hurt me. I don’t know why you thought he was here, but it’s not for that. I promise.”

“Not hurt,” Draco said, the words wild and rough, being dragged up from the bottom of his throat by what sounded like meat-hooks. “I didn’t think that. He was _touching_ you.” He snarled, and drool splashed out of his mouth and down towards his chin. His gaze focused on Ron, more malevolent than Harry had yet seen it, even when Draco had thought serving Voldemort the right thing to do. “Going to destroy him for that.”

“No,” Harry said, and once again moved so that he covered Ron from all angles. Ron had shuffled to the side, which Draco had watched with brightening eyes. But Harry wasn’t about to let either of them get hurt for something so _stupid_ as the curse, or the lingering animosity between them, for that matter. “Other people can touch me, Draco, but that doesn’t mean that they want to have sex with me.”

“We can touch him because we’re his friends,” Ron said, and then boldly laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry swatted it sharply away, not sure what would happen next, already opening his mouth to yell at Ron—

And Draco cast a curse that leaped easily past Harry’s head, curled over his back, and smashed into Ron.

Ron screamed in agony. Harry turned and went down on his knees beside him, raising a bubble that ought to cover them both from any approach by Draco. Then he cast the revealing spell that had told him what the Dark curse on Ron was when he’d come to the house that one time before, trying to ignore the panic that rustled and rushed in him like blood.

Draco crashed against the bubble at the same moment as Harry’s spell failed. Harry swore and tried another charm. He would just have used the countercurse if he knew it, but this was an unknown spell, one that was wrenching Ron’s limbs out to the side and bowing his back at the same time, as if he was on a rack.

“Come _out_ , Harry.”

Draco’s voice was ugly. He cast another spell that fizzled away at the limits of the bubble, but Harry could feel the perceptible weakening in the bubble’s side. It would give way soon, and then what was going to happen? He didn’t want to know what spell Draco would cast if he got his hands on Ron.

_Then I cannot let that happen._

His second revealing spell had failed. Harry narrowed his concentration down to Ron and Ron alone, and began to chant the third, a charm that had showed him where unexpected Dark components to Light spells were located before. This spell might be one that was ordinarily used to stretch and dry towels. He thought it was. He would go on thinking it was until he was forced to decide otherwise.

*

It was worse than before. Not only was Weasley touching Harry now, but Harry was on the floor beside him, one hand resting on his chest, and the wrist of the other sweeping perilously near Weasley’s robes when he moved it.

The sight sent deep splinters of pain into Draco’s chest, and made it a struggle to breathe.

Harry _couldn’t_ do this. He _couldn’t._ Draco desired him so much that he had to return at least some of that desire, or respect it. If he couldn’t climb willingly into bed with Draco, then he had to avoid other people until he could overcome his inexplicable revulsion. And if he didn’t avoid them, then Draco would punish them. Draco didn’t see why that was so hard to understand.

A green glow abruptly gripped Weasley. Harry said something under his breath that might have been a prayer—with the bubble between them, it was hard for Draco to make it out—and then rested both hands in the center of Weasley’s chest, wand pointing along his sternum.

Draco kicked the bubble, jealousy filling him like hot tar. This _hurt_ , to see Harry touching someone else. Didn’t he understand that? It _hurt_. And Draco had never even got to feel those hands touching his chest with the same reverence and care that Harry showed Weasley. He’d initiated all the contact between them, and the only thing Harry had ever been involved in was pushing him away.

Harry glanced once to the side as he cast his spell, his green eyes flashing at Draco, and Draco remembered the way those eyes had looked when he reached for Harry in the meadow. He’d flinched. He hadn’t wanted Draco to touch him, all because Draco had been a little forceful shortly before.

But he would touch _Weasley._

Draco began to grimly prepare himself for a spell that he was sure would destroy the bubble. He hadn’t wanted to use it before because it might also injure Harry. But he _had_ to establish his claim to Harry. That was paramount.

*

_Thank Merlin._

The revealing spell had finally shown what was wrong with Ron, and it was that spell that would stretch and dry towels, given a Dark component for extra pain and applied to a human body. Harry didn’t want to think about the yowls and yelps that were coming out of Ron’s throat now, mostly beyond the point where he could recognize anything human in them. He would remove the spell and then hope that a round of healing potions would help Ron move well enough to go to St. Mungo’s.

A shuffle from the side caught his attention, and he glanced at Draco. Draco’s face was pasty with longing, his hands clenching at the air and his wand as if that would help make up for not having Harry’s flesh under his hands right now. Or was it Ron’s flesh that he was longing for, to rend and tear? Harry didn’t know enough about the operation of the curse, or the way that it usually functioned, to say for certain.

Draco lifted his wand. Harry saw that much before he had to return to Ron and his incantation.

_And what is Ron going to say when he recovers? That anyone who uses a Dark spell belongs in prison? That using a spell against an Auror means that Draco has to be arrested immediately?_

Harry didn’t know for certain what would happen to Draco if he was shut away from the sight of Harry for days, but he could guess.

Ron stopped spasming as Harry’s spell took hold, and weakly opened his eyes. Harry began to murmur other charms that ought to ease the pain in his muscles, thinking about how he could move the bubble around his lab so that they could reach the healing potions without opening it to Draco. Harry had perfected these defenses when some of the revealing charms he used, combined with the spells on objects, turned out to have unpredictable consequences; he could make the sides permeable, to roll over and absorb the healing potions inwards, without making them less strong.

Something hit the bubble.

For long moments, that was all Harry could say for certain, that _something_ had hit the bubble. Light flashed around him, white and blinding. There was an enormous concussion. He heard the shattering and splintering of glass and wood, and knew that the magic had nearly destroyed his lab. For a moment, he despaired, thinking about all the lost work and the lost chances of curing the curse.

When he could see again, he realized it wasn’t actually that bad. The bubble was gone, but most of the vials and notes and objects that he practiced on were still on the shelves. One shelf had sagged and cracked, but it was on the other side of the room and hadn’t spilled anything fragile. Ron had been thrown clear and lay on the floor, groaning but not screaming. After the ending of that first spell, Harry was glad for any reaction that wasn’t a scream. He started to force himself up.

That was when he became aware of the part that _was_ worse than he had thought. Draco was straddling his hips, staring at him with the grace of a rearing cobra. He had his wand in one hand, and it was pressed firmly into the skin over Harry’s heart.

Harry studied Draco’s eyes. The glaze was there, but different than what he had seen before. It was—deeper? Brighter? At any rate, it made Draco look more like himself. Harry hoped he could be reasoned with.

“Draco?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, which made Harry _stare_ , because of all the words he had ever thought to hear coming out of Draco’s mouth, those were the last two. “But I had to get through the bubble. You were _touching_ Weasley.” He spat the last words and moved up Harry’s body, so that he sat more firmly on Harry’s chest. Harry breathed out carefully and shook his head.

“I’m not now,” he said.

“I know.” Draco stared at him with something like rapture and then ran a hand down the side of his neck, sighing deeply when his fingers caught in Harry’s hair. He tightened them for a moment, holding Harry’s head still. Harry remained motionless, and Draco’s hand relaxed, retracting to his side. “It’s fine,” Draco said, in a deep, soothing voice. “Everything will be fine, as long as you don’t touch anyone else.”

Harry licked his lips. Draco stared in fascination, and Harry said, “I have to heal Ron, Draco. He’s hurt.”

Draco shook his head fiercely. The pout on his face would have been funny, like the expression of a child losing a favorite sweet, but it was accompanied by a terrifying darkness in his eyes. “No. You can help him, if that’s what you need.” The sneer his voice dropped into made him sound more like the rational Draco. “But you’re not going to touch him.”

Harry glanced sideways at Ron, and saw him forcing himself back to his elbows, staring at Draco and Harry with stunned surprise that was starting to turn into the beginnings of outrage. Harry winced. “Draco, what do you feel about this?” he asked. “Are you jealous? Is that why I can’t touch Ron?”

“You’re _mine_ ,” Draco said.

_I think the answer is “yes,”_ Harry thought. He tried to make sure that his breathing and his manner stayed as calm as possible. Not only Draco but Ron was less likely to panic if Harry acted like he wasn’t in danger. “Well. Can I sit up, now? My head hurts from lying on the floor,” he improvised. Draco had started to shake his head, his face darkening, but Harry doubted that Draco wanted him hurt.

“Oh. Of course.” Draco’s voice was soft and eager now, and he bent down and fastened his lips gently on Harry’s for a moment, sucking at the corner of his mouth, before he leaned back. Harry sat up and turned to face Ron.

Draco’s arms wound about his waist from behind, and Draco planted a large kiss on the side of Harry’s throat, sucking harder this time. Harry felt the skin pulled and had to close his eyes. Despite the circumstances, he’d always had a sensitive neck, and someone mouthing it called forth—well, the usual response.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice was soft and uncertain.

“You don’t talk to him.” Draco sounded almost conversational, but when Harry looked again, Draco had his wand pointed at Ron. Nor was the smile on his lips reassuring. “You don’t touch him. Get out of the lab without trying to do those things, and I _might_ let you live.”

Ron surged to his feet at once, his face washed with red. Harry felt fear grab his stomach and squeeze as if it wanted to make him vomit his lunch. Ron had Auror training. He could hurt Draco badly, even if Draco struck back with Dark magic.

“Draco, no,” Harry murmured, and stood. Draco came with him, of course, hovering close, his hand resting now on Harry’s shoulder, now on his waist, as if he wanted to make sure that every inch of their skin touched at least once somewhere. “Ron didn’t mean to hurt me. He didn’t mean to hurt you, either, but that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t let go of me for a few minutes.” He pulled hopefully at Draco’s grip, which only tightened.

“You’re mine,” Draco said. “Oh, _mine_.” His voice was a snarl now, and he appeared torn between making sure that Ron knew he was a threat and breathing the words into Harry’s ear.

“People aren’t _things_ , Malfoy,” Ron said, his eyes narrowed and his expression full of contempt. “Of course someone like you would think that you could own Harry, though.” He looked around. Harry knew that he was marking the positions of objects in case he had to retreat or move suddenly in a duel, and that made matters worse. Ron was thinking about not just arresting Malfoy but fighting him, and Harry knew that someone often died when an Auror chose to do that.

“It’s not his own nature that’s making him say that,” Harry told Ron quickly. “It’s the curse. You _know_ what this curse is like, Ron.”

“He already used Dark magic on me once,” Ron said, unflinching. “And you know as well as I do that that’s illegal, Harry, no matter why someone does it.”

Harry tried to reach Ron. If he could once grip him and shake him the way that he sometimes needed to be shaken, then maybe he could get Ron to see the truth.

But Draco tightened his hold and fastened his lips on Harry’s throat again. When he drew back, his voice had gone darker and huskier, and his wand had turned so that it was pointed at Harry’s face instead of Ron. “Why do you force me to hurt you like this, Harry? Don’t you understand that I _don’t want you touching him_?” His tone had been almost pleasant, but it deepened on those last words, and became harsh and choking. Suddenly his wand was poking Harry in the Adam’s apple.

Harry still had his wand. He reminded himself of that when fear fluttered under his skin.

“Fine, Draco,” he said. “I’ll stay still. But he has a point, you know. We have to deal with the jealousy that you’re feeling in some way.”

Draco made an—odd sound. Harry wasn’t sure how to describe it, or whether the curse had given him the ability to make it, or whether it was something he could do under normal circumstances. It started out as a _hummm_ in his chest and ended up as a half-moan. He tucked his fingers where his wand had been a moment before and turned Harry’s head. Reluctantly, Harry went along with the pull, because he thought it was the best thing to do, although he flashed Ron one more warning glance before he did. Ron’s Auror instincts would probably say that this was the perfect time to attack; Harry was the only one who knew it wasn’t.

Draco studied his eyes for long moments. Harry looked back, and then Draco made the odd sound again and laid his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt himself flush, and not just because Ron was watching (although he did think it rather hard that he was destined to be molested twice in one day while his friends were there). He was on fire with embarrassment for Draco, the _real_ Draco, because Harry knew he would be humiliated if he was caught doing such a thing in public.

“The jealousy is fine,” Draco said softly. “I’ll apologize for the Dark spell if you want me to. I only did it to protect you.” His arms tightened when Harry opened his mouth to speak. “I’ll do that _if_ you come into our room now and let me fuck you.”

“Our room?” Ron asked loudly. “You share a room, Harry?”

“We will,” Draco said, sounding almost normal again as he glared over Harry’s head in Ron’s direction. “Not that it’s any of your business who Harry takes to his bed, Weasley.” He abruptly arched his neck and wrapped his arms around Harry to the point that Harry felt crushed. “But you might as well know that it will never be anyone but me, ever again. So sorry to crush your little sister’s hopes,” he added sarcastically. Then his mouth curved in a cruel smile. “Or should that be _your_ hopes?”

That was the point where Ron cast a spell in Draco’s direction with a wordless cry of outrage, and when Harry had to jump between them again.

Only, this time, the spell actually _hit_ him.

*

Draco felt Harry sag in his arms, his breathing suddenly ragged and his body twitching several times. He didn’t know what had happened, since that description could fit several spells, but he knew one thing.

Weasley shouldn’t have done that.

Draco gently laid Harry on the floor of the lab. Harry moaned weakly and turned his head. “Draco?” he murmured. “Where are you going?”

A dark bolt of pleasure surged through Draco. Of course his first concern had to be Harry’s health, but it was gratifying to know that Harry worried about his presence and wanted only _Draco_ near him. Draco bent down and kissed his forehead. “To punish Weasley,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Harry turned over on his side. Draco hovered next to him, sure that Weasley wouldn’t cast again in the short amount of time this would take, and Harry reached out and pressed his wand against Draco’s ankle.

“ _Memoria sanguinis_ ,” he whispered.

Draco staggered as the spell seemed to zoom through him, but while it brought the pictures of his parents and the Manor back to him, it didn’t affect him like he thought Harry was hoping. He shook his head gently. “No,” he said, when Harry stared up at him. “You can’t catch me that easily. I don’t know why you caught me that easily the first time. After all, you matter more to me than my parents do.”

“This isn’t _you_ ,” Harry said. He seemed to have forgotten Weasley was in the room. Draco turned his head to the side in sheer pleasure, but he didn’t get to see Weasley’s reaction because he didn’t dare take his eyes off Harry. “Draco, listen to yourself. You’re the one who values your blood and your heritage. That’s the reason the fanatics cast a curse on you in the first place. You’re not someone who would give that all up for a half-blood.”

“Shhh,” Draco said, frowning down at him. “If you refer to yourself that way again, I’ll be seriously displeased. I’m as jealous of your honor as I am of mine, and you deserve to be referred to in respectful terms.”

Harry gaped at him. Draco let his fingers brush against Harry’s cheek, gently pressing the dangling jaw shut. “What?” he whispered. “Is it so hard to believe that I would care about what you think and feel, Harry?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Weasley announced from across the room.

Draco shot him a venomous look that seemed to rock him back on his heels, and then bent down and pressed his lips against Harry’s cheek. “I do care,” he whispered. “I do. I always will. Just be still for right now, Harry. Are you hurt? Is there anything I can do for you before I go after him?”

“No, I—” Harry said, and then gasped. Draco, concerned, reached out to lay a hand on Harry’s throat and check the beat of his pulse, and shook his head when he found it. Harry’s heart was beating too fast.

“You should try to rest,” he began.

“That’s _it_ ,” Harry said. “The jealousy is detached from the rest of the spell. It _must_ be. The spell that helped to bring you out of the lust isn’t working because this isn’t lust, it’s jealousy. It’s not the same thing, but connected. They both make you behave irrationally, but in different ways.” He reached out and grasped Draco’s wrist with an urgent hand this time. “Let’s try something else.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and waited patiently. He could afford to humor Harry when doing so hurt no one.

“ _Memoria mentis_ ,” Harry said.

Draco swayed as a wind seemed to pick him up and then drop him right back where he had been. His head spun and his thoughts rearranged themselves into new patterns. He opened his mouth to ask what in the world Harry thought he was doing, trying to change his mind like that.

Then he realized where he was kneeling, and remembered the words he had spoken, and remembered what had precipitated this.

He was in his right mind again.

He had been _jealous_. Over _Harry Potter._

He struggled to his feet and turned away, keeping his head bowed. He didn’t want to look anyone in the eye right now.

Behind him, he could hear Potter standing up and saying something to Weasley. Weasley snapped back, openly hostile, “I don’t care how _sorry_ you are for him, Harry, it’s not _right_ that he should get away with using a Dark spell on me!”

Draco’s shoulders stiffened. He would put up with a lot to get the help Potter had promised him, but he wouldn’t stand for Weasley’s accusations. He turned around, ready to defend himself in any way that seemed possible.

The weary slump of Potter’s shoulders stopped him. Draco didn’t _want_ to be concerned, but then again, Potter was the only one who had seemed interested in helping him so far. Draco certainly didn’t want to put him off, either.

“Listen,” Potter said. “He used a spell on you. Then you used one on me. We’ll have to sort out the legalities later, but considering you knew what curse he was suffering from, you’re the one who’s more responsible and rational right now.”

Draco bristled. He was not a _child_. Just because he had a certain spell on him—

Weasley seemed to agree, given his narrowed eyes. Draco made a beckoning gesture. He was up to dueling Weasley if Weasley wanted to.

“Ron,” Potter said. “Go away.”

Weasley, caught fuming between what looked like anger and Gryffindor guilt, stood there waving his arms about for another second, then whirled and took the stairs several at a time. Potter shook his head and turned to face Draco, his fingers splayed across his forehead. He was trying to smile, but it was a sorry effort.

“I’ve learned something important today,” he said. “The curse has two components, the lust and the jealousy, and they’re interconnected in some devious ways. But what do you say we rest for a few hours? We deserve it.”

When he considered everything that had happened in the space of a day—two assaults on Potter, one breaking out of a warded circle, one assault on Weasley, and then one “hugging” session—Draco could only agree.


	8. Numberless Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“Potter.”

“Draco.”

Harry regretted the curt tone in his own voice. Then again, sympathy and warmth would have its own problems, considering the curse Draco was under. He kept his attention on the porridge that he was preparing, but he was also aware of the steps that indicated Draco was coming further into the kitchen and then stopping. He sounded tense and unsure from his steps, uncertain of his welcome.

_That’s probably as it should be,_ Harry thought, and kept his wand ready to raise a barrier spell if he needed to do it. His voice was calm and regular, though, because he had thought of a subject he could talk about and Draco would probably be glad to listen to. “Two-part spells are something of a specialty of mine. I wondered why I needed only one spell to see them but more than one spell to pull them apart or work variations on them.”

“Did you.” Draco’s voice was flat and unencouraging.

Harry still didn’t turn to face him, checking instead that the porridge wasn’t burning and then casting a simple Summoning Charm on the milk so that it wouldn’t fly over to him spraying liquid everywhere. “Yes. And since I’ve seen that the curse is a two-part spell now, I know that I’ll need to develop several spells instead of only one to cast on it. It’s good to know that the solution is complex. It keeps us from seeing simple ones in every shadow.”

Draco grunted. He seemed disposed to be uncommunicative. Well, Harry couldn’t really blame him. He poured a glass of milk for his own, braced himself, and turned around. “Did you want milk, or something else?” he asked.

Draco looked terrible. His face was thinner than it had been yesterday, Harry was certain, and paler. His hair spread out over his shoulders with the color and consistency of a spiderweb. He was swaying, one hand poised as though he would have to reach out and clutch at the wall for support any second. Harry swallowed his distressed cry and kept his gaze steady, almost unseeing. He thought Draco would prefer that to an acknowledgement of his weakness.

“Pumpkin juice,” Draco said. “If it must be any liquid other than saliva from your mouth.”

His face altered suddenly, the weakness burning away as though it had been only a mask, or a mist. Harry saw the terrible hunger there, and was doubly impressed that Draco had managed to stay in his bed during the night instead of seeking Harry out. Of course, with some of the wards Harry had raised, it was possible Draco had pounded against them and he hadn’t noticed. He swallowed queasiness and shook his head.

“I would,” he said. “If there weren’t strong ethical objections against it, and if nor for the nature of the curse, then I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry was pleased to see that his brain seemed to be able to respond to jokes and make them. It concealed the hunger in his expression. “Which is just the same as saying you can’t do it at all.”

Harry nodded. “I won’t be a rapist any more than I’ll let them make you into one. And you would recover from the curse—recover your mind and rationality—for a short time after you came, but you would feel more disgusted with yourself than anything. I won’t let that happen, either.”

“ _You_ a rapist.” Draco moved restlessly against the counter. “If I give you permission to touch me? Any disgust I have to face afterwards will be better than the burn I’m feeling right now.”

Harry shook his head. He had envisioned this argument, luckily—among the few consequences of the curse that he had done his best to foresee—and he knew exactly what to say. “You’re only giving me permission because you’re actually under the curse right now. You never would if you were in your right mind.” He paused, because Draco’s eyes, turned to him, were tormented, and added gently, “I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best, really. This is only another way that they tried to humiliate you—make you beg for sex from someone with dirty blood.”

Draco’s eyes fired. “I told you not to refer to yourself that way.”

“Yes, you did,” Harry said. “Because you’re under the curse.”

Draco turned away, head lowered, licking his lips. “It’s so hard,” he finally murmured, “to know what’s me and what’s the magic.”

“I know,” Harry said, and poured pumpkin juice for him. “We should go back to the Manor today. You never did fetch clothes for yourself, and you’ll probably feel better, visiting your parents in a room away from me. And there are books in the library that I think I could use.”

Draco raised a hand, and then let it fall again. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of protest or not. He didn’t intend to find out. He turned back to his own breakfast and moved out of the way so that Draco could reach his porridge and juice.

Draco passed closer to him than he needed to so that he could reach the food. Harry ignored that. He knew that Draco couldn’t help it.

He also knew that Draco would feel better, would feel _normal_ , if Harry wanked him. But that didn’t matter, because of how badly he would feel after it. Harry had to keep the real Draco, the Draco who was humiliated yesterday after Harry restored him to himself, in mind. He couldn’t think of this Draco as the real one, any more than he could think of Draco as sick forever if this had been a disease.

“Are you all right?”

Harry was surprised enough by the question to blink and glance over, although he half-suspected Draco had only asked it to make Harry look at him. Draco’s eyes were overly bright, his hands clenched on the edge of the counter. “What do you mean?”

“That spell Weasley cast.” Draco shook his head. “I can’t believe that I only thought of that now. What effect did it have on you? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Harry said, smiling at Draco in spite of himself. Draco’s concern for him was—well, touching. Sweet. He could almost forget that it was the result of a spell, although not for long. “It was a spell that was meant to make the mind spin and get distracted, instead of focusing on the things around you. But I had a strong reason to pay attention to the present. So it made my heart speed up as the conflicting impulses fought in my brain and my body.” He shrugged and took a spoonful of porridge. “So, ultimately, it didn’t work.”

“I never thought to hear you say sentences like that,” Draco said, and turned to his own breakfast.

Harry nodded. “Keep thinking like that. We can get you back to normal more easily if you focus more on the things that separate me from you, I think, and make you remember that you once hated me.”

*

_But I don’t want to focus on those things._

The thought returned forcibly to Draco as he watched Potter bending over the books in his library that afternoon, after Draco had arranged with the house-elves for his clothes to be taken to Potter’s home. He watched Potter’s hair rustling against his cheek and felt abstract desire; the burn in his chest was so familiar by now that he could almost forget about it.

But he also remembered the way it had felt to think of this man as _Harry_ , and it was the ease of that moment he hungered for more than the taste of Potter’s flesh.

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Relief waited only a few fingerspans’ length away. He had kept himself from intruding into Potter’s bedroom at night—well, yes, he had gone once, but the wards had stopped him. He’d had to watch Potter sleeping and think in vain of all the more interesting things they could be doing instead.

But if Potter would cooperate with him, then neither of them would be a rapist. Potter wouldn’t be unwilling, and Draco discarded out of hand the argument that Potter could _really_ force him against his will, when everything in him craved the movement of Potter’s legs opening to him, the moment of his head falling back against his pillow.

Potter made a soft sound. Draco started to his feet, and then realized that it was the sort of noise someone would make when interested by research, rather than a sexual one. He slumped back again and closed his eyes, his breath shaky with frustrated longing.

Potter turned his head, and Draco felt pierced by those green eyes. His cock stirred. He stared at the smooth skin on Potter’s face and hands, the pale color of his lips, so much that he nearly missed the words Potter spoke. “Draco, why don’t you go find your mother? I think that would do you the most good right now.”

“I’m not a child, to be spoken to like that,” Draco snarled. He could feel the jealousy surging to life in his chest, a warmer whirlwind than it had been, and it made him wonder what Potter wanted him out of the room for. Did he intend to use a house-elf to send a message to the She-Weasel? Draco had told the elves that they were to hold themselves ready at Potter’s orders, but he would revoke that before he would allow communication with a rival.

Potter sighed and massaged his scar as if Draco made his head ache. Draco could feel his defensiveness rising to the surface and swallowed hard, trying to keep it down.

“Sorry,” Potter said. “But I think it would do you good to talk with her. You can’t help me here, and you’re getting more and more agitated.”

“Because you won’t let me have you,” Draco said. He thought Potter was being rather thick-headed for such a brilliant research wizard if he didn’t know why Draco was anxious. “For no other reason.”

“Well, it’s disturbing me, and I have to work,” Potter said, turning back to the book on the table. “Will you leave?”

Draco snapped his head down and stomped away, caught between a weirdly conflicting set of feelings: respect for Potter, that he had shoved Draco away rather than giving in to Gryffindor niceness and keeping him around when he couldn’t help; resentment that Potter thought Draco couldn’t stay near him and control himself; and raging desire to see what would happen if he leaned forwards and took those pale lips with his own.

_So far, I’ve done better at controlling myself today than I did yesterday,_ Draco thought, wandering through the corridors that led past spectacular views of the gardens and rooms where he could sit and doze in the sunlight. Neither of those was what he wanted, though. The gardens would only have been tolerable if he could have shown them to Potter and then fucked him on a flowerbed in front of the staring peacocks, and Draco was quite warm enough already. _That’s unusual, when the curse is one day further advanced than normal._

He turned a corner, and ran straight into his father.

Draco stopped at once, and they stood there staring awkwardly at each other. Lucius leaned on his cane now, the way he had since he came back from Azkaban. Since he showed so few physical changes otherwise, Draco wasn’t sure if that was an affectation or not. Perhaps not, because he did move more slowly.

But mentally, he had changed. He had given up all hopes for himself and pinned them all on Draco. Draco had to smile bitterly when he considered whether the Mudblood fanatics who had done this to him could have known that. They were taking away two lives at once by casting the curse on Draco, a revenge they wouldn’t have had if they had used it on Lucius.

“Draco.” Lucius’s voice was very still. “Your mother told me everything.”

“About the curse?” Draco asked. He could keep his voice still himself. He watched a shaft of sunlight coming in through a nearby window and thought for a few moments. “And that Potter’s helping me?”

“Yes.” From the corner of his eye, although he was mostly focused on the sunlight, Draco saw Lucius’s hands tighten on the cane. “Son—are you sure that he _can_ help you? Do you think he might be in with those Mudblood freaks who did this to you? He appeared on the scene awfully conveniently, from what your mother says.”

Draco turned around, snarling despite himself. “Don’t _say_ that about him.”

Lucius acquired an extra layer of polish and poise, staring at Draco. Draco tried to slow his breathing down, and discovered it was hopeless. He settled for ramping his glare up another notch, instead.

“Ah.” Lucius bent forwards, over the cane, and studied the floor for a moment. Then he looked up with intense eyes. “You are under the curse,” he said. “But I did not know it would affect you this deeply. I thought that it might leave you the pride due to your blood.”

“That _pride_ ,” Draco said, feeling as though someone was prying out the words from deep inside him, “would leave me separated from Harry. That is not something I _ever_ wish to happen. I want to be with him.”

“Because of the curse,” Lucius said. For some reason, the further Draco went into the magic that he knew was overspreading his mind—but was hard to resist, because it felt so much like his own thoughts—the more relaxed his father seemed to become. “I know that you felt differently about him once.”

“Very differently,” Draco said. It was no hardship for him to acknowledge that. “But I want to fuck him now.”

His father winced, but Draco thought it was mostly at the crudity of his language rather than the sentiment expressed. “Very well,” he said. “Then you must continue to exist under the curse until Potter finds the cure that does _not_ exist.” He grimaced delicately.

“He’ll find it,” Draco said. “You don’t know him as I do. You don’t understand what he’s like or how intelligent he is.” He found his mouth watering as he thought of exhibiting Harry’s intelligence in front of his father. Perhaps then Lucius would bow his head and accept the inevitable, that he had a Potter for a son-in-law.

Lucius watched him with half-lidded eyes. “The curse mimics a certain degree of insight,” he murmured. “I had not realized that. It _persuades_ you that some things are true, or that they feel true, and you cannot distinguish between your thoughts and the thoughts of the magic.”

“I know that I need Harry, no matter what the reason,” Draco said. “And I know that he’s far more intelligent than I supposed, far more beautiful, far more compassionate. _Don’t_ try to take him for yourself,” he added sharply, suddenly thinking of one reason that his father might be asking all these questions about Harry.

Lucius laughed and shuddered at the same time. “If you could see into my mind at the moment, you would know how much desire I have to stay with your mother and see you, my son and heir, far away from him as well.”

Draco scowled at him, simultaneously satisfied and angry. “Leave me with him,” he warned.

“You won’t find the cure,” Lucius said. “He won’t find the cure. They used this because there is no cure and they knew it.” For a moment, he leaned more heavily on the cane and shut his eyes. Draco didn’t understand why his face aged like that. Harry would find the cure, after all, in spite of his father’s doubts, and then Harry wouldn’t be held back by these stupid morals of his from shagging Draco. “And if you were in your right mind, son, then you would thank me for what I’m about to do.”

_About_ to do? Draco looked down and saw his father’s wand pointed at him.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” murmured Lucius, and Draco found himself sliding down and down into darkness, reaching out and clutching without the ability to stop his fall, his heart rebounding against his ribcage with anxiety about what would happen next. It was for Harry and not himself that he was concerned.

Even on the edge of darkness, he had enough perception to note that that was really an unusual, unfamiliar situation.

*

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry marked the passage in the book he was reading with one finger and looked up, eyebrow cocked. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said. He hadn’t thought Lucius would come near him, or Narcissa either. No matter what they owed him for having spoken up at their trial, or because he was working on finding a cure for Draco, they wouldn’t want to see the man whom Draco had become a slavering lunatic for. “Yes?”

“ _Nova Cupiditas_ has no cure,” Lucius said. His voice was almost gentle. “You would know that if you had spent your time in true research rather than chasing wild dreams.”

“I believe that it does, and I can find it,” Harry said, his fingers tightening for a moment on the book. But he wasn’t going to allow Lucius to irritate him. Draco needed his parents’ support as much as he needed Harry’s help. “I’ve already discovered that it’s a two-part spell, made of lust and jealousy linked together, and I’m researching cures for similar curses, to see if there’s something there that can help us.”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed. “I have studied the spell intimately in the last day, and I have run across no mention of such a thing.”

“My field is seeing the magical signatures of spells,” Harry said. “I don’t think anyone else has ever viewed _Nova Cupiditas_ the way I’ve viewed it.” He gave Lucius a sharp smile and bowed his head over the book again.

Lucius was still for a few minutes, and Harry hoped he had given him something to think about. But if he had, it apparently wasn’t enough to persuade Lucius to actually leave the room, because he leaned over the table and stared Harry in the eye. Harry looked back, counting numbers to himself to slow his heartbeat and his breathing.

“My son is the most precious being on earth to me,” Lucius said.

_What about your wife?_ Harry wondered, but it was hardly up to him to arbitrate Malfoy affairs of the heart. “I can see why,” he said instead, and remained still, not flinching, even though Lucius seemed to expect him to.

“I would do anything to protect him,” Lucius went on. “I would do anything to set him free from the curse. He is the only Malfoy left, now, the only one of us with anything like a future. I will not see his future stolen from him.”

“The best thing you could do right now,” Harry said, “is to find out who the fanatics might be, and to keep them from stealing anyone else’s future in turn.”

“I don’t care about them,” Lucius said. “Only him. And it scores my soul to see him caring about _you_ , rather than his family and the future of his line.”

Harry felt his eyes soften. This was a goal that he thought they could agree on. “Yes, I know,” he said. “It’s not befitting—the person he is.” He had thought to say that it wasn’t befitting a Malfoy, but then Lucius would probably snap that he knew nothing at all about being a Malfoy, and Harry wasn’t eager to get into that row. “When I heal him, then I fully expect him to go back to thinking I’m a lousy half-blood he would rather not owe anything to and avoiding my presence. I’m not after staying with him permanently,” he added, wondering if that was what Lucius was worried about.

Lucius gave him a sharp smile, all teeth. “No, you won’t be,” he said, and drew his wand.

Harry’s hands quivered, but he kept them in place, still thinking of Draco. He _had_ to reduce this to a misunderstanding if he could. Draco needed all of them, not the one survivor of a duel between him and Lucius. “I’m not going to suddenly change my mind halfway through the process and let Draco dirty himself by shagging me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “That would make me a rapist, as much as it would make him one if he forced himself past my defenses and took me.”

“I lied,” Lucius said. “There is one cure to _Nova Cupiditas._ I told you that I had learned quite a bit about it in the last day.” He leaned forwards across the table, wand coming closer to Harry’s throat. “One might say the curse has a victim and an object. The victim, in this case, is my son. The object is you. One can counter the curse by the sudden removal of the object.”

Harry was smarter than he had been in school, more adult and thoughtful. He knew what Lucius meant, and he probably wouldn’t have if Lucius hadn’t babbled on about it beforehand. But that, and the wand, had warned Harry. He flung himself out of the chair and onto the floor just as Lucius said, almost lovingly, almost the way that he would say it to a real potential son-in-law, “ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

The green light went overhead. Harry rolled beneath the table and cast a charm that would make it rise up and smack Lucius in the face. He still didn’t want to hurt him, but he also wasn’t keen on seeing if the strange protection that had let him survive the Killing Curse twice was going to do it a third time.

Lucius let out a heavy noise as the table struck him. That might have been pain or only frustration; Harry didn’t intend to wait around and find out. He was on his feet in seconds, sprinting for the door out of the library.

“ _Colloportus_ ,” said Lucius, and the door slammed shut and locked.

Harry changed the direction of his movement in a smooth instant, springing up and backwards so that he landed on another table not far from the door. He whirled around, half-crouched, ready to leap. Lucius was lying on the floor, but he showed no inclination to rise to his feet, perhaps because a huge, ugly bruise had spread across his jaw, and his head might still be ringing. His wand tracked Harry with leisurely grace.

“Your son,” Harry began, and then shook his head. It was no good saying that Draco wouldn’t thank Lucius for killing Harry. Of course he would. The minute Harry’s death occurred, if Lucius was right, the curse would end, and Draco would be free of all the unnatural feelings that the magic had engendered. He would probably regret dealing with the mess that Harry’s murder had caused, but he wouldn’t regret that Harry was dead as an _individual_.

That insight made Harry wince, a bit. He would have wished there was some way he could remain close to Draco, but of course, the Draco he was laboring to restore would find the memories intolerable and move away.

_As if I need a reward,_ Harry thought, and then Lucius laughed and reclaimed his attention.

“I’ll go to prison for killing you,” Lucius said. “I know that. But it doesn’t matter. My son will remain alive, and free.”

_Holy shit,_ Harry thought, staring into those grey eyes, sleek as hematite. _He means it._

That meant Harry couldn’t stay here. He whirled around and cast a Blasting Curse on the door that slammed the wooden slab out of place and made it fly down the corridor. Then he tucked himself up tight to avoid a second Killing Curse, leaped, landed on the floor, rolled between the gaping hinges where the door had been, and started running as hard as he could in a crouch down the corridor.

Lucius made a noise behind him like a hunting hound. Harry lifted his wand and started to cry out, “ _Point Me_ Draco—”

But no, that was no good. Lucius must have done something to Draco to keep him out of the way, or Draco would have been here before now, challenging his father in an effort to protect Harry. Going to him could mean that he would get hurt from Lucius’s madness.

_There’s only one person in the house who can actually interfere,_ Harry thought, _since the house-elves will be on Lucius’s side, and I can’t just run off and leave Draco God knows where and Lucius intent on killing me._

_“Point Me_ Narcissa Malfoy,” he gasped, and his wand spun and dragged him to the nearest stairs. Harry pounded towards them.

A sixth sense, or the Auror instincts, caught up to him and made him kink his body sideways, just in time, past a curse that _boiled_ the wood where it struck. Harry swore and took the stairs two at a time.


	9. Time and Time's Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“It would benefit you to give in to me and save yourself this useless flight.”

Lucius said that from behind him just as Harry reached the first wide turn in the stairs. Harry only had a second to judge from his voice where he was before a curse came flying between the bars of the banister and tried to cut him in half. Harry splayed himself sideways across some stairs and avoided it.

The banister on the other side didn’t. It cracked and hissed, and then flames sprang to life. House-elves squeaked as they appeared around it, occupied with dousing the fire. Harry flinched, but they didn’t seem to spare any attention for him. Lucius probably could have commanded them to hurt him easily, Harry thought, and sprinted on up the steps, away from them.

Why did the Malfoys and other pure-blood families have to have these grand staircases that curved and turned several times before reaching the next floor? Harry was out of breath by the time he finally sprang off the last step and arrived in a wide corridor with a door open at the far end. Of course, being a research wizard didn’t lend itself to as much exercise in the healthy fresh air as being an Auror or a Quidditch player would have, and most of Harry’s exercise in the last few days came from avoiding rape or murder.

From behind the door came a woman’s voice singing accompaniment to the notes of a piano. Harry paused for a moment, leaning against the nearest wall, and stifled the temptation to laugh. This song and his desperate flight from Lucius didn’t even seem to be part of the same world.

But a curse made the large rug at the top of the stairs fold itself up and shrivel away to nothing, and started Harry’s run again. He burst into Narcissa Malfoy’s private music room at the same moment as she hit a high note, on both instrument and voice, and the world around him vibrated like crystal about to break.

Harry barely had time to see one glimpse of a startled Narcissa swinging around to stare at him, and to note the brightness of the walls and the fresh, pale wood of the stool on which she sat. Even the piano was white instead of black, and the sunlight pouring through the windows made him blink.

“Mr. Potter.” Narcissa’s voice was not welcoming. She sat upright on the stool as she though she was a queen brought to judge a recalcitrant criminal. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your husband is trying to kill me because he thinks that will release the curse on Draco,” Harry said. “He says that he’s willing to go to Azkaban for my murder if it will keep Draco safe. You have to stop him. Can you stop him? Will you?”

The speech sounded better in his memory later than it did at the time he gave it. His voice stuttered and rustled, and he had to stop to gasp in between several of the words. Narcissa’s face reflected, he thought, more distaste for the manner of his delivery than for what he had to say. Indeed, she was watching the sweat on her carpet from his hair and the bottom of his shirt long before she seemed to register what he was saying.

Then Lucius called his name cheerfully from the corridor, and Narcissa rose to her feet with a small shake of her head. “This cannot be permitted to go on,” she said. “I said that Draco should die with dignity. His father is trying to take that choice from him.” She gave Harry an oblique look. “And so are you, but in a less noisy manner, since you will inevitably fail.”

Harry swallowed. It was an odd reason to feel grateful for her help, but it seemed that she did mean to help him.

Narcissa closed the door of her music room and twitched her fingers on her wand. A powerful ward sprang up, though Harry could only feel it through a sudden silence and pressure on his ears rather than see it. He shivered. He knew how strong such a spell could be. He had to wonder what kinds of things Narcissa had done in this room that required everyone below to remain ignorant of them.

Draco’s mother turned to look at him. Harry sought, but didn’t find, a trace of the warmth he had seen in her during that moment in the Forbidden Forest when she had saved his life. She stood there like a marble woman with jewels for eyes. Her hair hung in a long plait down her back, a thin, precious gold that was too pale to be real.

“Lucius has not been right since he came back from Azkaban,” she said, stepping around him and towards a white couch with an ivory table at either end. Cautious, Harry followed her, wondering if she would spring a different trap on him at any moment. “He has not done something so vicious and stupid before, however. I suppose this means I will have to confront his madness.” She sighed in the manner of someone whose prized dog had pissed on the carpet.

Then she turned around and stared at him. “Why did you not cast a spell that would stop him, Mr. Potter? I know you are capable.”

Harry held back a little frown. She had been there in the Forbidden Forest at the moment of his “triumph” over Voldemort as well as at the duel in the Great Hall. She ought to know better than anyone that he wasn’t a wizard of enormous power and deadly skill. “I didn’t want to hurt Draco’s father,” he said. “Draco might never forgive me.”

Narcissa paused and stood there with her face held to him in perfect profile. Perhaps she thought he would treasure this memory or something, Harry decided. Then she shook her head. “How ridiculous, Mr. Potter. You should worry about defending your life before you worry about his feelings.”

“I worry about both,” Harry said stubbornly. “I came to you and risked you turning me away or turning you against your husband, after all.”

Narcissa shook her head slightly again. “It makes me wonder if Lucius is right about his belief that the object should die to preserve the victim’s sanity,” she murmured. “It makes me wonder if you would be willing to die, if that was the only way to free Draco.”

Harry took a deep breath. He still expected the wards to shatter and Lucius to come bursting through at any moment. This quiet, still, bright room was _too_ far away from everything that had happened to him. He had to reconnect the two halves of his life somehow, and a violent disruption from the darker part seemed like the likeliest way.

But Narcissa went on watching him as if she did not intend to be disturbed, and Harry had to answer her. He shook his head back. “Not—really,” he said. “I’m sorry for Draco, and I want to give him the chance to preserve his integrity and who he really is. But I won’t do that at the sacrifice of my own life. I have goals and dreams and friends that have nothing to do with him.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Narcissa’s eyes were enormous, and probably as dark as they could be given their light coloring in the first place. “Though I do not believe in your ability to find a cure, I would think that only someone as madly committed to the curse’s victim as the victim is to him would stand a chance of finding it. If one existed,” she finished, with a calm nod that made Harry’s brain hurt.

“I don’t want to give up,” Harry said. “And I think accepting death would only be another form of giving up. I might as well let Draco rape me, because that would ease him of a bit of the lust and might give us some more time to find the cure. But I won’t, because I know that it would destroy him, and me, in other ways.”

“Giving up is not in your nature,” Narcissa said. “I wonder if they knew that, the ones who cursed him?”

“I don’t think they thought it through,” Harry said shortly. “Otherwise, they would never try to curse him to desire someone whose research is in experimental magic. They must hate him so much—to use that curse—that they wouldn’t want to give him a chance of finding help.”

“Or they thought you hated him, too,” Narcissa whispered. “That you would glory in the chance to destroy one of your oldest rivals.” She lowered her chin. Her eyes were bright again, but direct and challenging in a way that Harry hadn’t felt with Lucius’s curses. “Have you ever hated like that, Mr. Potter? I wonder. I wonder if you’re capable of it. Hate like that can create marvels as well as problems, and desperation, like the desperation driving you to aid my son, cannot match it.”

Harry couldn’t speak out of sheer astonishment for a few minutes. Then he snorted and said, “I’m sorry. Are you honestly saying that I can’t win because I can’t hate enough?”

“It is one means of succeeding,” Narcissa said. “One I am intimately familiar with.” She turned her head to the side as if listening to something, and Harry did, too, thinking that Lucius might burst through one of those large, lit windows. But there was only the silence, and the brightness, which Harry was starting to think of as potent forces in themselves. “I would feel more at ease, I admit, if you played by the laws and the rules that I am familiar with.”

Harry sighed. “Will you defend me from your husband, Mrs. Malfoy? I’m at a loss as to what to do otherwise, I’ll admit. I don’t want to put Draco in the position of having to choose between me and his father.”

Narcissa’s pale eyebrows rose like the wings of gulls. “Why? You must be aware that he would inevitably choose you because he is under the curse. You cannot be afraid of his losing his partiality for you overnight.”

“I’m afraid of what the choice would do to him in the future,” Harry said quietly. “After he is restored. Family is everything to him, Mrs. Malfoy. I don’t want him to have to decide against it, even if he only makes the decision because he’s not in his right mind.”

Mrs. Malfoy was still. Then she said, “For the sake of your investment in my son’s future, which I honor, I will help you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sighed again, this time in relief, and started to thank her. Narcissa held up a hand on which a slender silver ring shone. “Do not thank me. We are all fools together, and foolhardiness is not, in and of itself, an honor.”

Harry started to respond to that, in turn, and again Narcissa interrupted, but this time she seemed to genuinely listen to something beyond the wards that Harry couldn’t hear. Her face drew tight, and she moved at once towards the door of the music room and dismissed the ward with another finger-flick.

“Ma’am?” Harry trailed her. “Is something wrong?”

“A ward like a small silver bell rings to alert me that someone has cast an Unforgivable in my home,” Narcissa answered. “It rang now.”

Harry tried to burst past her, but she held up her wand and shook her head. “I shall go first, in case my husband tries to renew his vow to kill you.”

Harry gritted his teeth and followed her trailing robe down the stairs. He wanted to say that he was less afraid of Lucius right now than of the idea that Draco might have cursed his father, but he was sure Narcissa knew that, and didn’t care.

_Let that not have happened. I want Draco to come back to his family welcome and proud, disdaining me, because that’s the way he should be._

If he felt a twinge at the thought of Draco disdaining him when he was trying so hard to help, well, it was inevitable. And Draco’s mental health was worth more than stupid little feelings Harry might have.

*

Draco watched as his father writhed under the Cruciatus, and felt nothing but the darkest and most intense satisfaction he had ever experienced.

Sometimes a small part of his memory flashed up to the surface of his mind like a fish rising through water. He remembered how his father had looked at him with pride, had taught him lessons, had stood by with unfaltering patience and a look of cool boredom until Draco came up with the right answer. Yes, that had happened. Draco could acknowledge those facts in the way that he acknowledged the influence of the wind and gravity.

But in the face of what he had _seen_ happening, and heard from his father’s mouth—Lucius casting curses at the wards that wrapped his mother’s music room and swearing that he would destroy Harry—Draco had no hesitation in using the Unforgivable. He would have used something else, but this was the most painful spell he knew.

He prowled in a circle around Lucius now, coldly contemplative, wondering what he should use next. Perhaps he should lift the spell for a time, in fact, because he hadn’t given Lucius a chance to tell him whether Harry was hurt or not, and that was wrong. He ought to think more of his partner’s injuries than doing injuries in return, he decided, and canceled the curse with a swish of his wand.

“Draco.”

Draco could feel the delight that surged through his body in response to that one word. Harry should say it more often, he thought as he spun around and faced him.

Harry stood at the bottom of the grand staircase with wide eyes and a hand reaching out as if he wanted to either grab Draco and drag him closer or keep him at a distance. Draco knew what interpretation he wanted to put on the gesture, so he let his imagination choose for him and stepped forwards with a smile. He would get as close to Harry as Harry wanted.

“I was too late,” Harry said. “I wanted to keep you from this.”

“Why?” Draco asked. Another step, and he was within range of Harry. He took his wrist in one hand and spent a moment smoothing his fingers back and forth, admiring the fineness of the bones and the tightness of the tendons, before he pulled Harry closer still and fastened his mouth in place over Harry’s lips.

Harry didn’t kiss back nearly as long as Draco would have preferred, breaking free to stare at him with some mournfulness. “I didn’t want you to curse your father,” he said.

“Why not?” Draco ran a proud, possessive hand up Harry’s flank. He could use more feeding, Draco thought. He was too thin, and while the slender look was all very well in a research wizard, Draco intended to see that Harry did more with his life than pure work. Draco had enough money to permit Harry to see dozens of exotic places. He would buy Harry dragons’ eggs and elephants, if that was what he wanted. They would meet Veela and sirens with impunity. Once he had fully secured his claim on Harry, Draco would fear no one stealing Harry’s attention. They would be one, and Harry’s desires would be Draco’s. “I would be happy to do anything like that, and more, for you, Harry. Don’t you _know_ that by now?” Maybe the problem was Harry’s lack of certainty rather than Harry’s lack of knowledge, though, so Draco took Harry’s face in his hands and gazed into his eyes. “Don’t you see the sincerity in me?” he whispered.

Someone cleared their throat. Draco whipped around, more irritated than he could say that someone would interrupt now.

His mother stood behind Harry on the stairs. She had her wand in her hand, aimed vaguely in Harry’s direction. Draco put his body between them, and then paused, thinking. His mother had obviously been in the music room upstairs. Harry had run there in search of shelter. Then the wards had gone up.

They had been locked there in privacy, where no one could see—or hear—them.

Draco aimed his wand back at his mother. For a moment, shock made her face paler than it had been. She raised a hand, fingers splayed, and laid her wand on the floor. Draco nodded. “A few steps further back from him, and you’ll do well,” he growled.

His mother retreated. Harry was tugging on his shoulder, but Draco couldn’t help him right now. He was more focused on keeping what was his, and keeping Harry from an obvious danger. His mother might know fewer painful spells than his father, but she knew some more dangerous ones that affected the mind and the emotions, and might wrest Harry away from him.

“Draco,” Harry said, voice so anguished that Draco turned around again. He couldn’t stand that level of pain, even to keep Harry safe. He cupped Harry’s cheek and stared into his eyes.

“What?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

*

Harry closed his eyes because he was afraid that he would start weeping. He had hoped—he had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. That Draco wouldn’t hurt anyone else before Harry could manage to remove the curse, and that he would be able to go back to his life without his relationships unduly disrupted. Cursing Ron was horrible, but Draco and Ron had never had a relationship to speak of. His family was different.

Instead, he had cursed Lucius and threatened Narcissa.

And Harry was no longer sure the Malfoys were sane enough, or at least had standards enough like his, to forgive Draco because he was under the curse.

“Draco,” he said. “Are you going to listen to me?”

“I never want to do anything else.” Draco’s eyes burned with anxiety as he dipped his head. He seemed to think that he would see Harry better from up close.

Harry swallowed. He reached up to frame Draco’s face with his hands in turn, ignoring the hiss from Narcissa. He would have to hope that she would understand why this gesture was necessary to calm Draco. At least she ought to glimpse the necessity for keeping quiet in the glare of naked hatred that Draco directed her way.

“These are your family,” Harry said quietly. “Your father and your mother. Even if they threaten me, I don’t want you to attack them. They’re only doing what they think is best to protect you.”

Draco froze like a dog on a leash, trembling with eagerness. It was long moments before he said something. That actually made Harry hopeful. He thought that his words might be sinking home.

Then Draco shook his head slightly and asked, “Do you agree with—my father?” He gave Lucius the name reluctantly, Harry thought. “Because I won’t let you commit suicide to save my life. My life would be worth nothing without you.”

“I like my life,” Harry said. “I don’t want to die. I won’t sacrifice myself to that extent for you.” Draco beamed at him, and Harry had to look at the floor so that he would have the strength of will to continue. It was seductive, he thought, being the focus of someone’s every thought like that. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, especially not in his conversation with Narcissa, but it was. He had given attention to certain goals in the past, like defeating Voldemort, and he knew that he had become the focus of people’s fantasies. But he also knew that Draco couldn’t care less about his heroic reputation.

He always had to remember that this was a curse and Draco would have killed himself before he touched Harry like this willingly.

“But I am going to do lots of other things,” Harry said. “Things you might not like. I’m going to ask you to treat people decently, and realize that they don’t want to have sex with me.” He gestured to Narcissa, who was watching them closely. “She doesn’t _want_ to touch me. In her eyes, I have dirty blood, and she’s married to your father, someone much more to her taste.”

Draco tensed again. Harry thought he could see Harry’s persuasion and the relief of being free of a rival fighting in his mind with the curse’s tendency to suspect everyone. Then Draco shook his head and said, “People can’t despise you, either.”

Harry wanted to laugh, but didn’t, because he knew the laughter would end in hysteria. “I can’t control what other people think about me, Draco. I can try to influence their thoughts in a positive direction, sure, but I can’t _make_ them like me.”

“With me around, you can.” Draco drew Harry towards him, sheltering Harry in the curve of his arm, while he seemed prepared to aim his wand at Narcissa again.

Harry looked at her with a grimace. He didn’t know for certain what result keeping Draco around his family might have, but it seemed increasingly likely to be a bad one. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll have to take him away. I hope that your husband manages to recover in time.”

Narcissa brushed past them, Draco’s wand tracking her unerringly, and knelt down next to Lucius, robes puddling gracefully around her. Her hand rested on Lucius’s chest. Her cold blue eyes stayed on them, though. “Will you report him for attempting to kill you?”

Draco snarled. Harry pushed down hard on his arm and shook his head. “That won’t help,” he said. “I have to worry about solving the problem of this curse before all else, not pressing charges.”

“We don’t have to press charges,” Draco said. “Of course not.” Harry glanced up, hoping, and Draco smiled down at him before giving his parents a cold glance. “I can simply kill him, and that will defend you.”

Harry sighed.

“I understand.”

Those words made Harry look back up. Narcissa was nodding to him. “I understand,” she repeated. “I comprehend the nature of the curse now, and why you believe that Draco _must_ be cured rather than removing his object.” She didn’t want to say that Lucius had tried to kill Harry again, Harry thought, not with Draco already at the snapping point. “They have tried to humble and humiliate us. They will not succeed. You may count on my support, Mr. Potter.”

Harry swallowed air, and then said, “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. Will you look through the books here to see what you can find concerning _Nova Cupiditas_? I don’t think it’s safe for us to come back here for some time.”

“Or, at the very least, not healthy,” Narcissa said. She might have smiled, but perhaps the brightness in her eyes was due to a different cause. Certainly her lips didn’t move. “Go.”

Harry led Draco out of the house, and found him happy to be led. His docility worried Harry, but no more than the fact that he showed no regret for cursing his father. He was destroying his life, bit by bit, Harry thought—which was what the Muggleborn fanatics had intended all along, although they had probably thought the destruction would happen sooner.

_I have to help him. No matter what it takes, short of my death or murdering an innocent._

They Apparated back to Harry’s house and walked in. Harry aimed for the lab, hoping that Draco would consent to enter the warded circle again while he was in this calm mood. Then perhaps Harry could find another spell that would return him to his right mind.

If he could. It hadn’t escaped Harry’s attention that the periods of Draco’s lucidity were already shortening, and becoming harder and harder to restore.

He had reached out for the top of the stairs before Draco spun him abruptly and pressed him against the wall. Harry stared into his eyes, and Draco gave him a deep, rich, soothing smile.

“I went about this the wrong way,” he said. “I attacked you instead of seducing you. No wonder you thought I had rape in mind.”

“This isn’t you,” Harry said, and weighted his voice with as much quiet force as he could. If he could keep reminding Draco of who he really was, then that might help more than anything else would short of a real cure. “You hate me. You have to remember that. You’re a member of one of the oldest and proudest pure-blood families. You have to remember that.”

Draco shook his head, smiling. “I _used_ to be like that. Now I’m like this. I love you, Harry.”

Harry was still gaping at him when Draco added, “So here’s my try at seducing you,” slid a tender hand behind his neck, and pressed a gentle but insistent tongue into his mouth.


	10. Like a Month's Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Draco sighed as he tasted Harry’s mouth, properly, for the first time. The other times that they’d done this, he’d been so focused on easing the lust that filled his body that he hadn’t thought about anything else.

Now he could appreciate the curve of Harry’s jaw beneath his hand, and the way Harry’s stubble rasped against his palm, and the heat located behind his front teeth. Draco wondered why he had stubble. Did he not shave regularly? Had he been in too much of a hurry that morning, because he had been frightened of Draco, to shave?

Draco wanted to know _everything_.

He shifted and leaned forwards so that he forced Harry, gently, to widen his stance and permit Draco between his legs. He sighed again as their cocks bumped together. He was still aware of the distant desire to tear Harry’s clothes off and plunge his cock into him. It was—persistent. More persistent than Draco would have liked.

But now he felt as though he had woken up, or broken out of fever into health, finally. His body knew what it wanted, but his mind was in control. He was free of the curse, he thought, without Harry doing anything. That must be it. How else could he bear to go so slowly, to tease Harry’s tongue into a response the way he was doing now?

Not that Harry wasn’t admirable for wanting to help, even if he hadn’t done anything in the end. Not that Draco still didn’t want to lock him up in a room and keep him safe forever. No one had the right to threaten Harry, or touch him, or approach him. Draco could bring him all the food he needed, and give him all the touching he wanted, all the worship he needed, although he probably wouldn’t phrase it that way.

As soon as they were calm again and had spent themselves, Draco would explain that plan. He had no doubt that it would meet with Harry’s full approval.

He nudged his cock forwards again, and then reached a hand down from Harry’s face to his arse, tracing Harry’s crack with one finger. Harry bucked against him, making a vague sound. Draco smiled into his mouth. He would have thought it the surprise of a virgin if Harry hadn’t said that he wasn’t one.

Burning rage tightened a crown around Draco’s head, but he managed to banish it with a deep breath. No, no, Harry had said that he hadn’t been with anyone in a while. Just because others had broken him in didn’t mean they’d broken him, or tarnished him. What was left of him was Draco’s to enjoy.

And what was left of him was quite a lot, Draco thought, gathering up Harry’s erection in one appreciative hand and giving it a squeeze.

Harry cried out again, and then somehow leaned his head back so that his mouth broke free of Draco’s. Draco frowned and adjusted his angle. He had thought he had prevented that from happening, in any way. Harry was more clever and more flexible, both, than Draco had given him credit for.

Draco felt his anger melt into an adoring smile a moment later. Yes, Harry was clever and flexible and had every other virtue. Draco knew he did. He forgot sometimes, when the curse was active or when he remembered the old days when he had hated Harry, but something was always there to remind him. He slid his hand slowly and adoringly around Harry’s shoulders, coaxing him forwards.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered. For a moment, Draco thought he would let himself be coaxed.

And then he shook his head and broke free again. Draco sometimes thought that he didn’t have to be _quite_ that determined. If Harry would listen to his body and to Draco sometimes, he would have a fuller life than he did right now.

“Draco,” Harry said. Draco loved the force and the emphasis he put behind his name, as if he could say the same word over and over again. _Well, in a few minutes he will be,_ Draco thought in contentment, and didn’t turn his head to look down the corridor towards Harry’s room because he didn’t want to lose a moment’s glimpse of Harry’s eyes. “This isn’t you.”

Draco sighed. He had been sure that Harry would start something tiresome the moment his mouth was free—an excellent reason for keeping it occupied—and he had been right. He slid his hand teasingly around Harry’s hip and stroked it there. He had found a sensitive spot, he knew at once, because Harry let his eyelids flutter again. He shook his head sharply, though, and seemed to fight his way back to consciousness just when Draco had counted on rendering him sleepy with pleasure.

“This isn’t you,” he said more fiercely. He was turning to the left as if he wanted to break out of the circle of Draco’s arms, and Draco didn’t see why that should be. He tightened his hold, and Harry rolled his eyes and gave up for now. “It’s the curse. You don’t _love_ me. This is ridiculous.”

Draco winced. The words _hurt_ , hurt like glass knives stabbed into his heart. But he would repeat the truth as many times as necessary to get Harry to understand, he promised himself. The problem was that Harry couldn’t see into his head and so _he_ didn’t know that Draco was sincere and the curse had vanished. Draco could only tell him in words.

Well, he would make words enough.

“I love you,” he said. “It’s not ridiculous. Yes, I was blind for a long time, stupid, but the curse is gone now, and I can see and hear and feel and think and _feel_. I love you. I want to lay you down on the bed and lick your ears until you come from that alone.” He knew Harry had sensitive ears. He had watched the ways Harry shivered and startled when he was near them before. “I want to be inside you and make you shudder and cry from the pure, exquisite pleasure of it. I want you to be inside me and staring down at me with that expression of wonder I know you’re going to wear, even if you’ve been with other people before, because this is _me_ and you never thought you would see me in this position.” The crown of jealousy was around his brows again, pressing, but after Draco let Harry fuck him, he knew that Harry would never be tempted by anyone else. Draco was a good fuck. “I want to hold you and know that you’re not going to move as we sleep away the Sunday morning together. All of that. That’s only a small taste, but that’s what I can fit into words right now,” he ended.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered again. Draco held his breath, and hoped.

*

Harry wanted to give in with an intensity that surprised him.

It was all the fault of that bloody weakness he had confessed to his mind, if no one else, before, he thought grumpily. He wanted to be the center of someone’s attention, someone who wanted him for himself. The curse made Draco do that.

Or so it seemed. That was the problem he had to keep in mind: that the curse only made Draco seem to want him, that the real Draco would have liked nothing more than to run away screaming before he kissed Harry, and that this was only a new and strange manifestation of the curse.

Or maybe not so strange, when Harry thought about it. The curse would do anything to make sure that its victim accomplished the rape of the object. That meant that it could have shifted to suggesting new tactics to Draco because the older ones weren’t working. If Harry could be seduced, then the curse wouldn’t forbid that. It would make his own suggestions and thoughts seem sane to Draco, the same way that it had made it him think it was sane to rape Harry earlier.

Draco’s thoughts were warped and bent and twisted by the bloody thing. He was doing and thinking everything under its influence, and nothing he said or did could be trusted. He was incapable of keeping that in mind for himself right now, so it was up to Harry to be his conscience, his guide, his monitor.

But how hard was it, when the words Draco spoke were the most romantic ones he had ever heard, and made him want to surrender immediately?

_They’re romantic because magic’s acting in his brain,_ Harry reminded himself yet again. _I don’t think Draco would be romantic like that naturally. And that’s all the more reason to hate the curse, because I’ll never have the chance to find out what he acts like and says on his own._

Harry reached up, swallowed, and then tore Draco’s hand free from his face. He would have to move more delicately with the one on his cock, he thought. He opened his eyes and saw Draco staring at him from inches away.

“Please,” Draco said, though Harry could hear no breath behind the word. Only his lips shaped the plea.

Shadows of desperation were growing in Draco’s eyes. He might have been starving with food only a foot away, or dehydrated, with water lifted high above his head by an uncaring Azkaban guard. His hands on Harry trembled, and Harry knew that, as a result of the curse’s strange manifestation, that _he_ was the one with the power at the moment. Deny Draco, and Harry would hurt him, or at least inflict a cruel wound.

Harry hesitated again. He had never wanted to hurt anyone. He had become a research wizard out of interest in and love for his obscure field, but he hadn’t been opposed to helping people when he could. Causing pain deliberately was against his nature, against his own integrity as a human being.

_No, you idiot! Start arguing with yourself, and the curse has already won!_

He was still debating, unable to stop or think clearly, when Draco kissed him and apparently took it on himself to make up Harry’s mind for him. His hands were moving again, stroking Harry’s tangled hair back, sliding into his pants so that he could touch skin to skin where his cock was concerned. Harry’s mind hazed. He knew that the way Draco squeezed and stroked him was really no more skilled than the touches of any other lover he had been with, but it seemed so. And this was Draco, whose face Harry had seen so many new expressions on in the past few days.

Draco, who would hate and despise what he was doing if he could be in control of himself.

Harry dug deeper and deeper down for his resolve, even as Draco caressed his hipbone and found that bloody weak spot, even as Draco’s tongue stroked in precise movements and Harry’s head spun and pleasure flowed straight to his toes. His orgasm was rising, and it felt as if Draco would tear it out of him if he didn’t stop touching Harry soon.

His body was all in favor of coming. It would only last a moment, and it wouldn’t matter, because it was Harry’s orgasm and not Draco’s. Harry could feel his tunnel vision closing in from all sides. He could feel his head bobbing forwards in surrender, his eyes shutting helplessly. It wouldn’t matter. He could come, and then his head would clear and he could deal with everything afterwards.

Draco’s fingers closed in a hard pinch on the head of his cock, and Harry screamed. The sound and the sudden pain made him fly backwards again.

_It does matter, because the curse is using Draco’s hands and mouth to make me come. I won’t use him as—as some sort of fucktoy. He’s still a human being, who should have some sort of fucking_ choice _about what he does and who he does it with!_

His shame was scalding, and Harry shook his head with more strength and less effort than before, pushing himself off the wall this time and away from Draco completely. His body immediately missed Draco’s hands, but his body didn’t get to cast the deciding vote. Harry was back in control now, calmly settled in himself, no matter how much it might have hurt, and he was going to do the right thing.

No matter how much he may have regretted it.

*

_What does it take to convince him?_

Draco was getting a bit exasperated now. Harry just kept backing away like a skittish virgin, and since Draco knew he wasn’t, that left only the possibility that he didn’t want Draco as much as Draco wanted him. Perhaps he was going to go find someone else, or he had a lover he hadn’t told Draco about.

Draco’s lips parted in an automatic snarl.

But no, it couldn’t be that, because he trusted in Harry’s honesty. He had to trust in Harry’s honesty, as a matter of fact. If Harry had lied to him before, it was such a good lie that Draco had never suspected it.

“Draco,” Harry said. His tone was low and reasonable, despite his wild eyes and hair. Draco wondered if perhaps his sex drive was abnormally low, because he could sound like this in the middle of a session of lovemaking. Well, that was another problem Draco would be happy to help him with. “You aren’t this way. It isn’t you. I promise you it isn’t.”

“You can say that all you like, but your body responds to me,” Draco said, deciding to talk about the one undisputed piece of truth between them. He stalked forwards, making sure that his hips moved in slow circles. He had had more than one former lover—and all of them would be former, now—tell him that that it made him devastatingly hard to resist. And Harry’s eyes dropped to his hips and lingered there for a moment before he wrenched them away.

Draco wanted to growl, except that he wouldn’t do anything that undignified. What did he have to _do_ to get through that tough skull of Harry’s?

“Yes,” Harry said. “And I nearly gave in and took advantage of you. But not right now. I know that you’re still under the curse.”

Draco smiled. “No. It’s gone.”

That made Harry give him a hard-eyed, suspicious stare, instead of the joyous smile that Draco had been sure would appear when Harry heard the news. “Really,” Harry said. “What made it vanish?”

Draco sighed and reached out, intending to trail a hand down Harry’s arm. Harry backed up so that he hovered temptingly just out of reach, and another of Draco’s brilliant plans failed. “What does it matter?” he asked in irritation. “What matters is that we’ve spent more time together than any other cursed pair have, and we’re both still alive, and I want you so much that it’s destroying me from the inside.” It did feel as though his liver was burning up now, his lungs crisping with the force of the fire denied. He was hungry. He had to have Harry.

“I bet that’s it,” Harry muttered. “If no other cursed pair spent this amount of time together without a rape or a murder happening, then it would make sense that the curse has to change form, and that no one else reported it.”

Draco purred. This sounded more positive. He wanted to encourage Harry in that line of thinking. “Come on,” he whispered. “If we’re free, then that means that we should enjoy ourselves. You deserve a reward for all your hard work. Who else would have stood by me in a crisis like this? You see that my own father thinks your death is the answer, and my mother thinks mine is. You’re the only one who cares about me right now, Harry. You’re the only one I can trust. And I promise you, I trust you more and I want you more than anyone I’ve met in my whole life.”

Harry himself might not have been aware of the way he hesitated when Draco spoke those words, but nothing could make Draco more aware of Harry than he was. He smiled and edged closer.

*

God, Harry wanted to give in.

It wouldn’t hurt much, would it? He could yield, and he would still be the good person he had always thought he was. Draco spoke with such sincerity that Harry could believe him if he wanted to, and no one would blame him. He could—

_God, you’re stupid. Thinking with your cock._

Harry bowed his head, his conscience once again throwing a bucket of cold water over his libido. Why did he keep wavering towards temptation, though? He knew the curse was still there no matter what Draco said; in fact, it was in the curse’s interest to have Draco deny it, so that Harry would be convinced and yield. The curse only existed to make Draco plunge his cock into Harry and then jerk him back and forth between sanity and lust, growing more violent whether it was satiated or denied.

_But yielding now would give him some lucidity back for a short time, and it might be enough time to let us find a solution._

That was another excuse again. Harry took a deep breath and drew his wand. Draco watched him with narrowed eyes, but he looked satisfied when Harry aimed the wand at himself and not at him. Perhaps he thought Harry was going to cast a charm that would remove all their clothes and take them to his bedroom.

Harry cast the Cold Water Curse on himself.

He cried out as it settled into place around him, a chilling burst of purest _pain_ that calmed the passion in his chest the way a hand might snuff a candle flame. He bent at the waist, shivering, his skin pebbled with the cold. Yes, it hurt, and yes, he should never have needed it, but the point was, he could actually think clearly now.

And he raised a barrier between him and Draco the moment he realized that he could. It was what he should have done in the first place. Force them apart, and then Draco couldn’t carry through this mad plan to seduce him or whatever it was, and Harry couldn’t touch even if he was tempted.

Draco slammed his palms flat against the shield, his face open and aching with disbelief. Harry swallowed several times and reminded himself that the pain done to Draco would ultimately be worse if he gave in, no matter how good it might feel in the short term. Draco would awaken from that interlude to his normal self, and he would feel like vomiting or worse when he realized that Harry had raped him.

“No,” Draco whispered. “No, please, Harry.”

Harry had heard less sincere begging from Ron or Hermione when they asked him to reconsider giving up on Auror training. He swallowed again. “I can’t,” he said. “Please, Draco, try to understand.” And then he stopped and shook his head. What kind of nonsense was he talking, speaking as though Draco was in control of his actions and was _capable_ of acting rationally?

“I can’t understand,” Draco said promptly, seeming to find hope in his headshake. “Harry, we need to discuss this. Lower the barrier and let me touch you.”

Harry shook his head again, this time more determined. “This is the curse,” he said. “It is, no matter how much or what you might feel at the moment—”

“I love you.” Draco’s eyes were bright and frantic and sincere.

“Be that as it may,” Harry said with an effort, “I can’t touch you without raping you. I can’t let you make me come without using you. I won’t violate your mental integrity that way. It would make me no better than the people who cast the curse.”

“I told you, the curse is gone. I love you. I _love_ you.” Draco slid to his knees on the other side of the barrier, and Harry closed his eyes, aching, this time, with the humiliation that Draco couldn’t feel for himself. “Harry, let me through, please. We don’t have to fuck, not if you don’t want to. You could let me hold you, and I would whisper sweet things in your ear all night long and sleep with you. _Just_ sleep,” he added hastily, though Harry hadn’t even voiced his objections yet. “That’s all. We could wake in the same bed. I think I need that. Please, Harry.”

Harry shook his head a third time. “I have to disbelieve what you’re saying, Draco. The curse is talking, not you.”

*

“But the curse is _gone_.” Draco felt that statement as a great truth, and he hated not being able to communicate it to Harry. To him, it was the most obvious thing in the world. He knew he loved Harry now, had fallen in love with him during the past few days, and that he should have been able to speak to him as one lover did to another, speaking truths beyond the reach of the world. That he couldn’t was heartbreaking.

And Draco really did feel as if his heart was breaking. He winced and put a hand on his chest, feeling it ache as though someone was slicing through his heart with a savage knife. He whimpered and tried to bow his head, but the bloody barrier was in the way.

He had to be close to Harry. Just touching him, like he said, not even fucking him, not even making love to him. He would be ripped apart otherwise. The knife had gone, and in its place was emptiness. He was so hungry.

“Harry, please,” he said. “I have to.”

“It’s the curse,” Harry, his beloved, stubborn, damning Harry said, watching him with the eyes of a judge. A doubt crept into Draco’s empty chest and flourished there. Did Harry really love him? He must not, or he could never have cast Draco into this horrible solitude and left him. “That’s all. I’m sorry, Draco. I’ll try to think of a spell that will bring you back to sanity, but with this new form the curse has taken, I don’t know how—”

“Harry,” Draco said. “I’m so _hungry_.” The hunger was growing, overpowering everything else. “If I can’t have you, I’ll have to have something else.”

Harry stared at him, expression suddenly wary. “I’ll stop you if you try to break through the barrier and rape me, Draco.”

“Never hurt you,” Draco rasped. His throat was dry, the saliva gone. He bent his head and ran his tongue up his arm, hoping to see the trail of wetness left behind, and, when none appeared, to feel the blood beneath. He still had liquid in him. He was still moist, if he really tried to be. He hurt. “Hurt myself before I hurt you.”

And it wasn’t enough. He was so hungry, and he had a source of food all around him, and really, what else was he good for, if Harry didn’t love him enough to be with him?

He bit down into his arm, enjoying the way his teeth went deeper and deeper, enjoying the way the blood welled around them, because the pain was a sensation to dig into the emptiness in his chest and make it vanish, because he stopped being so hungry when he bit—

Because Harry took down the barrier, and was beside him in a moment, crying out and cursing and cradling him in his arms.

Draco turned his head and kissed Harry. He kept it to a soft, sweet kiss, so it wouldn’t frighten Harry. He would go slowly. But he needed to be with Harry more than he had ever needed anything in his life, and if Harry didn’t stop muttering over his bleeding arm, then Draco would _make_ him pay attention.

Harry said something in a distracted tone. Draco only heard part of it, and that part was, “ _Somnus_.”

He went to sleep, to his surprise, the darkness closing in. But it didn’t take Harry away, to Draco’s surprise and gratitude; he danced with a willing Harry in his dreams, and they were together in every possible way.


	11. Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“You can’t do this alone, Harry.”

Harry firmed his lips but didn’t say anything as he continued to stare into the fire. He wanted to point out that Narcissa was his ally, but he had said that already, and Hermione had valued that at what she evidently thought it was worth. He had to admit he hadn’t made as much progress on the curse as he would like. In that respect, Hermione was right. He needed someone to help him research, because inevitably, he would be distracted some of the time with helping Draco.

But he didn’t think she was heading in that direction. And sure enough, when she leaned forwards and put her hand on his arm, he saw, from the pity in her eyes, what she was going to suggest before she said it.

“Harry, St. Mungo’s—”

“ _No!_ ” Harry wrenched himself away and leaped to his feet, pacing around the comfortable drawing room where he tended to sit when he had finished a project or wanted to read without having immediate access to the results and notes and objects he had gathered in his lab. “They’ll treat him like a ravenous animal, and try to learn things from him rather than learn things that would help him.”

“He is an animal now, mate.” Ron stood on the opposite side of the room, as if he was afraid to come too close, even though Draco was still sleeping under a protective half-dome near the fireplace. Harry glanced at him. Ron’s face was pale enough to make his freckles stand out against his skin like the marks of an explosion. “You can’t handle him. He’s a danger to you and anyone who comes near you or touches you. You don’t deserve this, Harry. Just because someone cursed Malfoy, you have to be dragged into it? I say we give him to the only people who might be able to make his passing less painful, the Healers, and let you go back to your normal life.”

Harry stared at Ron. Ron frowned back instead of flushing and looking at the floor, as Harry had thought he would. God, was he _listening_ to himself?

“What if I had said the same thing about the wizarding world?” Harry asked softly. “No one _deserved_ to be saved from Voldemort, either, by that logic. What do I care that he was cursing people? I could have run away, or lived my life in the Muggle world, and only defended myself if he came after me. But that’s not the way it was, and that’s not the way it is. Malfoy is still a human being. He still deserves protection and humane treatment.”

“I agree with you there,” Hermione said, giving Ron a stern look that said they would be talking later. “But Harry, I don’t think you’re able to do it. You’re too close to the situation. You’re too—I’m sorry, Harry, but you’re too inclined to be sympathetic to him. He needs someone who can give him harsh treatment when necessary, so that he’ll stop hurting himself and stop attacking you.”

“Or other people who he thinks get in the way,” Ron muttered, rubbing his shoulder. He probably still felt the lingering effects of the curse Draco had used on him, Harry thought, and winced. He was sorry for that. He hadn’t dared tell them about Draco using an Unforgivable on his father, because they would probably think that that meant Draco was too far gone to save.

_They already think that,_ whispered a laughing, cold voice in the back of his head. _You were stupid to ask them for help. All they can think of is taking Draco away and letting him live his last days in a cell, until he goes mad and manages to kill himself._

Harry locked his lips together. That was not going to happen, no matter what the eventual outcome of the curse was. He had promised Draco that he would give him a clean death if necessary, and he still meant to keep that promise.

“I can work with this,” he told Ron. “If you help me, as long as you don’t touch me directly, then I think I can cope.”

Hermione lowered her head. Ron was more straightforward. “Excuse me if I’m not willing to watch my best mate kill himself for the sake of someone who was a git to us in school,” he snapped. “I would support you if it was someone else, Harry. If Ginny had been cursed, sure. But not this way.”

Harry smiled a little. Ron had left an opening in his arguments, even if he didn’t know it. “All right. So you think it’s _possible_ that I might find a cure for this, even though you keep saying there’s no cure? You would want me to try if it was Ginny or another member of your family? It’s only Draco that you object to?”

Ron glared at him. Hermione shook her head. “You can’t catch me that way, Harry. I do think it’s hopeless. You’ve done some remarkable things, but people have been studying this curse and trying to work around it for years. It’s a death sentence, that’s all.”

“The way that Voldemort was _of course_ going to take over the wizarding world,” Harry said. “The way we should just have given up the moment we learned that he had six Horcruxes and how much effort it had taken to destroy them.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged another series of silent glances. Harry turned away and stared at Draco, sleeping under his dome.

No—not sleeping under his dome. As Harry watched, he stirred, his eyes flickering madly under their lids and grumbles of discontent coming from his lips. Harry cursed silently. No other spell had lasted as long as it was supposed to with Draco while he was under the influence of _Nova Cupiditas_ , including the Cold Water Curse, so he reckoned he shouldn’t be surprised that the sleep charm had begun to fade before its normal time as well.

“Decide whether you’re going to help me or not,” he snapped, making his way across the room so that he could crouch beside the dome. “But you should know I’m not going to give up on Draco, no matter what. I’ll fight you if you try to take him away to St. Mungo’s. Stun me and do it, and I’ll never trust you again. So you’ll have to decide what’s worth more to you, prejudice against the Malfoys or the loss of my friendship.”

Ron and Hermione still wore anguished looks when Harry created a hole through the dome just big enough to admit his arm and reached in so that he could lay his hand on Draco’s shoulder. He thought he should be safer this time, with the Cold Water Curse still in operation on him. But no amount of danger would keep him from being at Draco’s side when he woke up.

*

Draco turned his head to the side. He felt cold. Why was that? He was lying down, and he ought to have been in a bed with blankets over him.

And with a warm body beside him.

Wait. There was a single spot of heat, on his shoulder. Draco reached up and entwined his fingers with the fingers he found there, tracing his way up the arm until his hand bumped into a solid barrier just where the shoulder would be.

He opened his eyes.

The air seemed sharper and clearer than it had in—years, although he knew that wasn’t right. Draco blinked and would have sat up, but there was a silver dome not far above his hand, and he knew from experience that bumping his head on one of them wasn’t pleasant. He got to his knees and turned his head instead, never relinquishing his hold on the hand. It seemed that he couldn’t, though he didn’t know why.

Potter was staring at him with a desperately pale face and depressed expression.

Draco shuddered and closed his eyes. He was back to himself, for the moment, and he remembered what had happened when they returned from the Manor like something he had done in a dream. It was exquisitely obvious now why he was under a dome, with Potter only touching him safely from the far side of a wall. But he still wasn’t inclined to let go of Potter’s hand.

“There’s no way to beat this,” he whispered.

“Yes, there is.” Potter’s reassurance was instant, and Draco had the temptation to pick Potter’s hand up and rub it against his cheek, which told him the curse was still there, burning, under the surface. “We’re going to. But I’m sorry, Draco, I’m so sorry what you’ll have to go through on our way to doing it.”

“I hate that I humiliated myself like that,” Draco whispered. More details were coming back to him now, like details noticed from the corner of his eye. He winced when he remembered the stupid declarations he had made to Harry, sounding like a lovesick fool. Of course Harry didn’t love him in return.

But he also remembered the melting look in Harry’s eyes and how he had hesitated instead of throwing up a barrier right away. He hadn’t _wanted_ to close Draco away from him. He had _wanted_ to yield.

Draco licked his lips. He thought he should despair over that, because how could he hold strong if Potter gave in? But smugness and pleasure wound through him instead like a gleaming snake. Yes, the curse was still there.

“I need help, though,” Harry continued in a steady voice. “If you—go mad again, then I’ll need someone who can work on the research while I handle you and make sure that you don’t hurt yourself. Will you allow my friends to help?”

It came as a nasty jolt to Draco to realize that Granger and Weasley were in the room, staring at him, in more ways than one. Once, he would have known they were there without a doubt, even if he happened to be distracted by Harry. He leaned against the barrier and around Harry so that he could see their faces.

They glared at him with loathing. No, at his and Harry’s joined hands with loathing. Draco snarled in spite of himself. The jealousy was darker and thicker than he remembered it, warmer, spreading through his chest and his limbs and banishing the cold feeling he had awakened with. His fingers closed down hard enough to leave dents in Harry’s skin as he cradled Harry’s hand against his chest. He wished the stupid barrier was gone so that he could stand between Harry and his friends as a living wall.

“How long were you alone with them?” he demanded.

“I was never alone with them,” Harry said steadily. He didn’t object to the way Draco held his hand, and that was good. That was important. Draco stroked the skin between Harry’s fingers with his thumb in response. “We were all gathered in this room with you asleep in the corner the whole time.”

“God, Harry, don’t make _justifications_ to him!” Weasley sounded disgusted. He’d probably wanted to fuck Harry for years, Draco thought scornfully. Wasn’t he just disappointed to high heaven that it was a Malfoy who finally won Harry? “I told you, you don’t have to do this. No one could expect you to.”

“I expect me to.” Harry’s tone and face were flat, his eyes shimmering with stubbornness. “And I promised Draco I would. That’s two people right there.”

Draco swallowed. There was another, strange feeling spreading in his chest. It didn’t have the tarry heat of the jealousy or the salty warmth of the humiliation that had ripped through him when he thought about telling Harry Potter that he loved him, but it made him feel as if he were standing in sunlight nonetheless. He wondered what in the world this was. Some new manifestation of the curse?

“We worry about your safety, Harry,” Granger said. She spoke in a gentle, bookish tone, the way she always did, but Draco wasn’t fooled. Granger wouldn’t have been worried if it was someone else under the dome. If the Mudblood fanatics had cursed her precious husband, she would be begging and pleading for Harry to find the cure. “How can we leave you alone with him? But that’s what you’re making it sound as if we’ll have to do, if we leave the house to do research or gather clues.”

“Yes, that’s potentially what has to happen.” Draco could feel Harry’s hard, anxious pulse in the wrist he held. He wanted to bow his head and lick it, but he managed to subdue the impulse for the moment, since he wanted to listen to what Harry was saying even more. “But I don’t think it’ll _really_ be necessary, Hermione. At least, not for long. If you go out and do research, Ron can stay here with me and Draco, and vice versa. If I have to leave—”

“I’ll go with you,” Draco interrupted.

Weasley snorted rudely at him. “Are you mental, Malfoy? You’re just as likely to start molesting Harry in the middle of Diagon Alley as you are to do something actually useful.”

Draco welcomed the flood of irritation that broke over him, because it was a normal emotion, without reference to Harry, which made it rather rare and to be welcomed. “I have few choices left, Weasley,” he said. “If I am with Harry, he can help soothe me, and it’ll mean that at least I’m _involved_ in looking for the cure.”

Whether the curse had told him to say those words or not—and Draco was honestly puzzled as to what was the curse anymore and what was him—they had been the right ones. Harry’s face grew open and yielding, and he nodded. Draco looked back at him, drinking in the sight of Harry with his eyes wide open, mentally cursing that Harry couldn’t have yielded like that when he held him.

But then again, he would be the victim of rape or a rapist if it had happened. No matter how much his body ached to hold more than Harry’s hand, Draco thought it best that things had worked out the way they had.

_I can trust him._

Maybe that explained the warm feeling buzzing through him. Draco lost himself in the soft, steady caresses of Harry’s palm and the webs of skin between his fingers, ignoring the way Harry fought with his friends. As long as he could touch Harry like this and as long as Harry fought for him, everything was going to be all right.

*

Harry sighed and resisted the temptation to go back to bed. It was late in the evening, and Hermione had started off for the library at Hogwarts, where she had a standing invitation to do research, armed with the information Harry and Draco had explained to her about the way the curse had changed. Harry had seen reluctant interest in her eyes when they explained that, but he also knew she didn’t think this was a hopeful sign. If the curse changed at all, she would decide, it was only so that Draco could get Harry into bed more easily.

Now Harry was down in the lab, with Draco in the repaired and warded circle once more, and Ron behind him. Ron grumbled and fidgeted the entire time, mumbling to himself about how unfair it was that Harry was doing this when he wouldn’t have put forth the same kind of effort for anyone else who was cursed.

That part, Harry could ignore. He knew that he would have tried to help anyone else who was cursed, too. As he had told Draco, the integrity of being human was important to him.

But Ron’s mere presence made Draco unhappy, and that made it harder for Harry to concentrate on the revealing charms he would have to cast. He thought the curse had changed, too, and that meant it should look different from the original picture he’d seen. But it was one thing to do that, and another thing to decide on the spells he should use and pronounce them when Ron was there.

Draco glared through the wards at Ron. Ron glared back. Harry shook his head. He knew that Ron was worried for him and the worry was manifesting as anger, the way it so often did with the Weasleys, but he only hoped Ron would be smart enough to follow the instructions Harry had given him. Despite any temptation, Ron _had_ to stay on the other side of the lab and not cross it to touch Harry.

It wasn’t something he was inclined to do naturally, but Harry could picture him doing it out of sheer stubbornness.

“All right?” he asked no one in particular. “If certain people will calm down and stop behaving like _children_ , I can get started.”

“You heard him, Weasley.” Draco sounded almost normal when he spoke to Ron. Harry concentrated on that. _That_ was the Draco he was trying to restore: the one who issued insults from a center of self-confidence, the one to whom Weasleys were only enemies to be despised.

The Draco who hated him.

The thought still hurt. But it wasn’t as if Harry was unused to pain, after all.

“How do you know he wasn’t talking to you, Malfoy?” Ron snarled back. Harry shut his eyes and wished he could shut his ears, but he didn’t want to miss danger signals like Draco starting to beg. He did begin to incant the first revealing charm, though, holding the embers of a spent fire lit by a Dark wizard in his left hand. The curse seemed to have more affinities to heat than to cold.

“I’m cursed,” Draco said, in a light, mocking tone. “That means I’m not in control of my actions. Haven’t you been listening?”

Harry reached the end of the spell and whirled to face the warded circle fully. The moment he could see Harry’s eyes on him, Draco lost all interest in taunting Ron. He reached out a yearning hand instead, and then halted when it crashed against the wards. But his body and his mind were both focused on one goal, and his heart was in his eyes. It was possible that he _did_ love Harry when he was under the curse.

_It isn’t a love he would have chosen,_ Harry reminded himself as he waited for some results from the spell. _That’s the part I have to remember. Draco under the curse can say and do anything he likes, but it isn’t real._

And right now, he really had to pay more attention to the results of the spell and less to his own stupid feelings, didn’t he? Harry leaned forwards and watched the way the spell slithered through the wards and hit Draco’s head and shoulders. He had focused it there since that was where he had seen the jagged pieces and the ugly, tendril-entwining crown that had manifested before.

This time, the jagged pieces and the crown appeared again, but there was a third piece coiled on top of them. Harry narrowed his eyes. Did that represent the change in the curse? Or was it only that he had used a different spell, a better one, this time, and had its continuous existence revealed to him?

“Harry?”

Ron was asking a question, but Harry had to draw the third piece of the spell before it vanished. “Just a minute,” he said, and scrambled madly for the parchment. The third thing looked like a dozing snake. Its “head” rested in the tendrils that wrapped Draco’s face, while its body writhed and coiled and redoubled back along the top of the pieces on Draco’s shoulders. Harry wanted to make sure that he scribbled down every coil. It could be important.

_Why_?

Harry licked his lips, silently cheering. He knew that kind of certainty in himself, the gleaming and rippling thought that refused to rise to the surface of his mind as yet. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind where he couldn’t reach it right now, he had an idea. He would get there. He would find it in the end. And right now, he knew it was important that he draw all the coils. He moved to the side so that he could see the coil draped over Draco’s ear; from this angle, he couldn’t tell if it was single or twisted around itself like a cord.

*

Draco leaned on the warded barrier, sniffing. He knew that he couldn’t _actually_ smell Harry from behind the wards, but it seemed as if he could, and the air shifted around him when he sniffed. That was helpful. It kept him from trying to push through the wards the way he had once before and interrupt Harry at his work.

Harry was beautiful when he was working. Draco didn’t think he knew that—and he knew Weasley didn’t, because he kept whining and whinging and wanting Harry’s attention, acting as though the research was a dream that Harry needed to wake up from, instead of the center of his life.

_I want to be the center of his life._

Draco swallowed. Well, he was right now, because he was involved in Harry’s research. And Harry had said that he would stay with Draco, stand beside him, and struggle as hard for the removal of the curse as Draco could do himself. Draco used that remembrance to calm his jealousy so that he could go on studying Harry.

His eyes were narrowed, and they flickered continuously from the parchment in his hand to the air just above Draco’s head and shoulders, to the spell signature that Draco assumed he could see. That didn’t hide their beautiful green color. His hair was messy, but Draco knew now it always looked that way and wasn’t a sign that he’d just shagged someone, which also helped to calm the jealousy. His hands were steady, his jaw set in determination, and his body moved like a dancer’s, aimed at the end that would help Draco most.

Draco reached out automatically, and his hand bumped against the wards again. He pulled it back and listened to the Weasel’s whining with half an ear. It seemed the Weasel was talking about Harry staying at their house tonight, leaving Draco chained up behind a dome of some sort. Draco knew that Harry would never listen to that, so he didn’t have to worry about it.

He looked at Harry again. Harry had finished his drawing and was leaning back on his heels, shaking his head. His skin was stained with sweat, and he wiped it away, his open, honest expression expanding into a smile as he looked at Draco.

“We’ll solve it,” he said. “I did see a change in the curse now. I wonder if it’s new, or if my spell didn’t show it before? Whatever it is, more information about the curse can only be good.”

Draco opened his mouth to agree, but Weasley intervened. “Mate. Are you sure that you won’t consider coming to my house for the night?”

Harry shook his head again. “I’m grateful that you and Hermione have volunteered to help me, Ron. But I can’t leave Draco alone.” He looked back at Draco, and the smile was gone, but the intensity that remained in his eyes was perfectly acceptable. It almost made up for the wards and domes that had been continuously between them since Draco awoke. “I never will.”

Draco had to shut his eyes. The warm, trembling feeling invaded his limbs like the touch of sunlight.

He didn’t know how to name it. He didn’t know where it came from, the curse or his own soul. He didn’t know how to tell the difference between those two things now.

But he did know what he would have liked, at the moment, if Harry had lowered the barriers and if he could have controlled himself and if Weasley wasn’t in the room.

To take Harry in his arms and kiss him, simply and easily. To touch his face and learn the shape of the bones there. To take him to bed so that they might discuss the curse together with the easiness of intimates.

He couldn’t name the source. If he tried, he would be confused, ashamed, and disgusted, though not enough disgusted. He only knew the feelings.


	12. His Own Personal Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Draco came awake staring in several different directions, snarling and clawing at the bubble that surrounded him.

“It’s all right, Draco. You’re safe.”

That calm, stolid voice came from just above his head, and Draco settled back with a small sigh, tilting his face up to look. Harry sat there, by the side of his bed, with his hand extended through a hole in the wards that surrounded Draco. It had probably been on his shoulder or his face, but with the way Draco had moved around, it had slid to his chest. Draco seized Harry’s wrist, rubbed his face against it, and sighed in relief.

“You’re all right. You’re safe.”

Draco hardly paid attention. He had felt trapped when he woke, yes, but now he didn’t, especially since he remembered the reasons for putting the bubble in place. He had grown snappish over having Weasley in the same room last night, and then in the same house. He had insisted on sitting right behind Harry, arms around his waist, his nose next to Harry’s ear. The thought of that behavior made him flush a little now, but it had seemed perfectly natural at the time. If Harry’s friends insisted on having access to him, then Draco could insist on the same thing, and he would make sure that neither of them could sneak in and fuck Harry when he wasn’t looking, because he would _always_ be looking.

“You’re all right. You’re safe.”

Draco shook his head in irritation. “Say something else,” he snapped, looking up at Harry. The sight of those brilliant green eyes made his stomach turn over, and he reached up, but halted his free hand an inch short of the barriers. He was taking in more of his surroundings than he had been, he thought. That had to be a hopeful sign. “When you talk like that, I get the feeling that you don’t want to bother with me, that you’re only doing this because you have no choice.”

Harry blinked. He was lovely when he did that, Draco thought, entirely so. The way his eyelashes descended over his eyes and then flattened along his cheek could have taught a whole phalanx of artists about light and shadow. Then again, Harry was so beautiful that the artists would have had a hard time figuring out which of his features they would learn the most from. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s not true at all.”

“I know.” Draco licked his lips. The hunger was growing in him again, shoving against the skin of his stomach like a swallowed blade. “Open the bubble, please, Harry.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry shook his head, making his hair rustle with a sound that drove Draco mad. He _had_ to touch it. “This is as much of me as I can give you right now. And I’ll have to send you to sleep if you hurt yourself.”

The thought nearly panicked Draco, not because of what would happen if he hurt himself but because he would miss seeing Harry then, and Harry might well walk out of the room and do something dangerous or upsetting. “No!” he said, and firmed his grip on Harry’s hand. “If you can’t do anything else—a calming spell? A Calming Draught?” Although everything would taste like ashes that wasn’t Harry’s skin, that was better than nothing.

Harry watched him with concern for a moment, which Draco was all for encouraging, and then nodded and cast a Summoning Charm. “ _Accio_ Calming Draught,” he called.

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Harry catching the vial and taking the cork out with his teeth. Then he said, “I’ll have to withdraw my hand so that I can take the vial and then put it through to you, Draco. Can you let me go?”

He didn’t sound condescending, to Draco’s amazement. But a moment later, he was scornful of himself for being surprised. Of course Harry would manage that, if anyone could. Harry knew how to treat people. Harry was the hero Draco had always thought he wasn’t, because he was heroic in ordinary ways.

He unclenched his fingers and let Harry retract his hand, though it could only happen because he promised himself something better when he had hold of Harry again. The potion came down, Draco swallowed the Calming Draught, and then he seized Harry’s hand hard enough that the vial dropped to the bed before he began to lick between Harry’s fingers.

Harry shuddered, but Draco didn’t stop. Every time his tongue swiped over the skin, he collected a new flavor and eased the hunger that gathered in his belly. Harry’s skin tasted of salt, of sharpness, of sweat, of earth, of dirt, of tiredness. Draco tasted them all, and separated the tastes, and wriggled in delight on the bed. It was the first time he remembered being _really_ satisfied since he was cursed. He had come close when he tried to seduce Harry, but he had always had the impression that Harry wasn’t really willing to let Draco touch him like this.

_He’s willing this time. Or at least he isn’t pulling his hand away._

But when Draco glanced up, Harry was just sitting there with a sort of tolerant expression, watching him the same way he might watch a cat rubbing itself against his knee. That hurt so much Draco stopped moving. “You’re not enjoying this,” he said.

“I can’t feel much of it, since I cast the Cold Water Curse on myself yesterday, and that lasts for seventy-two hours,” Harry answered calmly.

Draco settled back with a pout. He did feel a little better now that he’d taken the potion, less hungry and less frantic to break out of the bubble, but he faced the same obstacle that he always did: Harry wasn’t enjoying himself, and he seemed opposed to letting Draco persuade him into doing it. Draco locked his fingers with Harry’s again and sighed.

When he met Harry’s eyes this time, Harry was looking at him with acute distress, and Draco surged up fast enough to bump his head against the top of the bubble. He rubbed it, looking steadily at Harry. “Tell me who hurt you,” he said, “so I can hurt them.”

“I’m only hurt _for_ you,” Harry said lowly. “Because you’ll wake up and suffer when you do, but like this, you’re suffering even more. It’s a choice between hoping that you can forgive me when you wake up, and seeing what you’ll have to forgive me for. Can you forgive me for seeing it? I hope so.”

Draco laughed. “You’re not making any sense,” he said. He was pleased to discover that he hadn’t been _completely_ mistaken about Harry when they were both boys, that sometimes Harry was just as nonsensical as Draco had always thought he was. “I’ll forgive you anything, except perhaps staying away from me when I want to share myself with you.”

Harry bowed his head and sighed. “Never mind,” he said after a moment. “You can’t understand it, and it’s not fair to inflict things on you that you can’t understand.”

Draco snorted. “Try me.”

Harry peered at him, hesitated, opened his mouth, and might have said something really entertaining and really valuable, something that would pierce to the heart of him and let Draco understand why he held back and shivered when Draco wanted to offer him every happiness. But at that moment, the door opened and Granger came in.

*

“Harry, I think I’ve discovered something that might be interesting, if you’re serious about trying to cure him—”

Harry didn’t get to respond at first, because a windy sound was coming from Draco’s mouth. Harry stared and bent closer to the bubble, wondering if he was wheezing. Then he realized it was a low snarl, the kind an animal might make, and that Draco’s eyes were fixed on Hermione. He’d done that to Ron last night, too, insisting that Ron leave the lab after Harry had cast a few more spells and then asking every few minutes if Ron was really still in the house. Harry had been forced to lie and say Ron had left to go home and go to sleep.

“ _Mine_ ,” Draco said, hauling on Harry’s arm hard enough that he staggered into the bubble of wards.

Hermione stood there with her hand over her mouth and her eyes so big with pity that Harry felt his skin twitch in irritation. She had no right to look at him like that, as if he was trying to tame a wild animal who wouldn’t be tamed. Harry shook his head and murmured, “You were saying?”

“She can’t stay,” Draco interrupted before Hermione could get a word in edgewise. “You’re mine, and she’s too close.”

Hermione did what Harry had been afraid she would: forgot Draco was under a curse and tried to treat him as if he was behaving this way of his own free will. She turned to him with her hands on her hips. “You can’t _own_ people, Malfoy,” she began to lecture. “That’s why the system of owning house-elves doesn’t work.”

Harry shook his head furiously at her, and his expression must have communicated some of his exasperation, because she stopped talking with a blink. Draco, in the meantime, had started to look almost normal, the way he had when he was taunting Ron in the lab last night.

“You’ve never learned better, Granger,” he drawled. “You never will. You don’t understand that the house-elves _love_ servitude.” Abruptly, his eyes snapped to the side, and the way they burned told Harry that his normal manner was only a thin mask over a much deeper and wider madness. “The way that Harry loves being mine.” His nails were digging scratches in the back of Harry’s hand now.

Hermione had recovered enough to snort. “Yes, he loves it so much that you have to keep him prisoner and hurt him, Malfoy.”

Draco released Harry, looking stricken. The next moment, his face crumpled and he reached out again. Harry let him clasp his wrist a second time. Draco closed his eyes and leaned on Harry’s arm as though it was holding him up in the middle of a shipwreck.

“Hermione,” Harry said, words low and emphatic so that Draco wouldn’t respond to them the way he would a cry of distress. “Stop it.”

“I don’t see how I’m going to tell you what I found, if you won’t leave him and he doesn’t want me here,” Hermione muttered, looking displeased.

“Write it down,” Harry suggested, with a glance at Draco. He had dropped off almost to sleep, or so his slow, deep breathing argued, but Harry knew the curse might assert itself again and wake Draco up at any time. “That way, I can look over it and think up questions to ask you. If I have to put him to sleep again, we’ll talk then.”

Hermione nodded and pulled two pieces of parchment out of a book she was carrying, which she started to recopy more neatly onto another piece of parchment. Harry turned his head to the side so that he could avoid the look in her eyes. She still thought there was nothing to be done and that he would lose Draco, and in the meantime, he was wasting time and effort on a case that would cause him heartbreak.

It didn’t matter what she thought, Harry told himself. Not as long as she would help him and refrain from arguing with Draco. He could use any information she gathered. He _would_ use it. He would remember that his friends cared for him and were offering him the best advice they could, so he could fight the tendency to withdraw into a tiny little bubble with only Draco for company.

If the worst happened and he had to mercy-kill Draco, or if the time came when they really _couldn’t_ do any more, then Harry had to maintain enough perspective to know it.

*

“That’s strange,” Harry said, leaning forwards so that he could peer at the drawing Hermione had made. His skin prickled, and he had to lick his lips to keep his mouth from overflowing. Stupid as it sounded to say it—which was why he didn’t say it—he was beginning to think that they had finally discovered a clue.

“What’s strange?” Hermione leaned forwards. Ron, behind her, put a supportive hand on her shoulder, though Harry thought he was the one who needed it more. Hermione reached up and squeezed his arm without looking at him. All her gaze and attention were for Harry, the way they had been since he left the room where Draco was sleeping.

“This drawing you made looks like part of the curse I spotted last night,” Harry said, and turned the notes around, tapping the long, wavy lines that coiled and doubled back on themselves, like the snake on Draco’s head. “Part of the spell’s signature. What kind of book did you find this in?”

“A long shot.” Hermione pursed her lips and shrugged. “It was in a book about Dark Arts spells that warp and twist the mind. The ones that are like the Imperius Curse but less effective or stronger, to the point that few people use them because they’ll reduce your victims to a gibbering wreck and be obvious.” Her voice was detached, the usual tone she used when discussing people who had done horrible things.

Harry nodded, and then lost himself in the accompanying notes. Hermione had talked about the history of _Nova Cupiditas_ , the separate components that people had sometimes thought comprised it but had been unable to prove existed, and the fact that it had killed everyone it was cast on. That information was underlined twice, making absolutely sure that Harry couldn’t miss it. Harry still wasn’t inclined to pay attention to it until he had to. Draco didn’t need anyone else giving up on him.

The snake represented not one curse, but curses in general that twisted the mind. Harry felt his hands tighten on the parchment when he reached one particular line.

“What is it?” Hermione was more sensitive to those sorts of signals than Ron was, leaning forwards as if she could make him tell them what was in his mind with the sheer pressure of her stare.

Harry had to swallow twice before he could speak. “These mind-warping spells can be tangled with others, because of the way their signature flows. So they can easily combine and blend to form new curses. And they’re hard to disentangle.”

“I read that part when I came back,” Ron said. “It doesn’t say ‘hard.’ It says ‘impossible.’”

Harry ignored him and kept reading.

“Harry,” Hermione said. Her voice was polite but firm, one of those times when she would get angry if he tried to ignore her. She reached out and put her hand on his arm.

Harry leaned back. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said. “I’ve explained how and why it’s impossible for me to abandon Draco, too. And you’ve agreed to help. You wouldn’t be wasting your time if you thought there really was no chance.”

Hermione bowed her head. Ron was the one who took over from her, slipping into place with a lack of effort that made Harry’s chest ache for a moment. His best friends could do this, because they really loved and trusted each other. But Harry didn’t have that kind of love and trust with anyone else. The curse gave him a glimpse of it, but it would be snatched away in the end, and Harry had to _hope_ that it was snatched away, or he would be worse than the people who had cast the curse in the first place.

“Mate,” Ron said quietly. “We’re doing this because it’s important to you. Not because we feel sympathy for Malfoy, and not because we think you can succeed. And of course we want to protect you. Leave you alone with Malfoy, and I don’t think that would happen.”

Harry stood up and turned away instead of answering. What could he say? That he thought it was repugnant that Ron and Hermione couldn’t forgive Draco, which was true? That he understood why they couldn’t, which was also true? He was the one who had worked closely with Draco and understood him better now.

_And it’s been two days._

Harry slowed down and took a breath that made his lungs ache. Two days—well, three—since Draco was cursed and he’d found out about it. That was enough time to go through multiple assaults and a near-rape and Draco bursting out of the warded circle, but Ron and Hermione hadn’t been through all of that.

_No wonder they think I’m mental, changing my whole perspective on someone named Malfoy in just two days._

Harry turned back around, a little calmer, understanding their position, but still determined to defend his own. He would just do it with more consideration for the feelings of his best friends, that was all.

“Look,” he said. “I can’t give up. I won’t give up. If you try to protect me by hurting Draco, then yes, I’m going to object. But other than that, I won’t. If you feel that you can do something for both of us that doesn’t involve hurting him, I’m willing to listen.”

Ron and Hermione held one of those silent conversations Harry was in the mood to envy at the moment, glances shifting and flickering back and forth, hands rising and falling in what looked like aborted gestures. Harry leaned back against the table and breathed himself into calm. He also found himself listening for a cry from Draco’s bedroom.

_The way that a parent would listen for a child. Not the way that one lover would listen for another._

Harry sighed. He would have to contend with this illusion of a relationship in his mind for a while, he thought. Well, as long as he kept reminding himself that it wasn’t real—as long as he was _willing_ to remind himself of that—perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

Hermione finally turned around to face him and took up the position of spokesperson again. “I’ll do what I can with research, Harry. Ron will take over guarding. We’ll try to consult you before we make any hasty decisions. Will that work?”

Harry gave them a tired smile. “It will. Thanks.”

*

Draco came awake hurting all over. He reached up, and, without considering what he was doing, started to tear strips of skin from his face. He knew that would ease the desire, if he could just get some of the skin loose and eat it.

“Draco! No!”

The touch of those hands on his skin was like the quenching of thirst and hunger both at once by some miraculous potion. Draco rolled over and tried to kiss Harry, but there was a bubble in the way. He screamed in frustration, fury, fear, and desire, and dug his fingers back into his face. He knew he was close to his eyes. He didn’t care. Harry was out there, and he was in here.

“Damn it!” That was Harry’s voice, and Draco felt better, hearing it, but nothing would have felt good enough except Harry breathing into his face as he spoke the words. Draco heard frantic fumbling, a muttered chant, and then something about “nutrient potions” and “no, I can’t hold him down like this.”

“ _Somnus!_ ”

Something dark and low in Draco’s belly shattered the sleeping charm. He wasn’t going to succumb to it. His eyes had focused now, and he saw Harry on the other side of a transparent wall. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together now, forever and always.

“Harry,” he called. He was lonely, and hungry, and had nothing to _eat_. He locked his hands into his hair and pulled some strands free, strands that he thought had blood on the ends. He sucked the blood. He was so _hungry_.

“Bloody fucking—” someone else said, and then Draco felt the smooth, round edge of a glass flask against his lips. He didn’t want it. He turned his head away. He wanted to suck blood, to eat flesh. It was a wild, raw hunger in him, and it could only be satisfied by something equally raw and wild in return, unless Harry was willing to kiss him.

Which Harry never would be. It grieved and hurt Draco, to realize that. He wondered if he wouldn’t rather die, given the knowledge that Harry would keep as carefully far apart from him as possible.

Then the bubble was gone, and Harry was with him, kneeling above him, leaning down to kiss him freely. Draco moaned in ecstasy and clutched at his shoulders. The burning died at once, his lucid mind began to rise to the surface, and he changed the grasping of his fingers on Harry’s shoulders to a gentle, caressing motion. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt Harry. He would make him scream in pleasure, and then Harry would want to stay with him, would willingly admit Draco’s love, would give him his love in return.

Harry’s mouth opened, and Draco got one wonderful taste of his tongue before he realized that something else was slipping into his mouth, too. The potion! Harry was giving him a sleeping potion of some sort through the kiss.

Draco sank down into sleep, confused and hungry.

And betrayed.

*

“Harry, you can’t go on like this.”

Harry shut his eyes and refused to look at Hermione. He knew that his mouth was swollen, his hair standing straight out from his head, and his shirt in tatters. He knew he would see the reflection of that in Hermione’s face, and, right now, he didn’t want to.

“I know,” he said abruptly. “But I think that the sleeping potion should keep him quiescent for a little while. I have to—I’ll go to Malfoy Manor and see if Narcissa has anything she’s found in the books that I can use.”

Hermione stretched out her hand, but then dropped it and nodded. She seemed to know that he needed to be away from Draco for right now, Harry thought, and gave her one smile before he fled to his bedroom to put on a different shirt.

He couldn’t…

He was running away from temptation and his own fierce humiliation as much as anything else.

He had depths of sickness that he’d never expected, to want to rape someone as much as he did.

Harry put on a new shirt without looking into the mirror and swiped ineffectually at his hair with a comb. Then he stepped out his front door, barely checking to make sure he had his wand with him before he turned away.

He would have to Apparate to Malfoy Manor, since he doubted they would have left a Floo connection open for him. Well, that was all right. It would still be somewhere he could go to be away from Draco and Draco’s hungry clutching hands and the urge to simply melt all over Draco and _give in_.

He was still hard. He still wanted to.

He walked to the end of the street, and the air shimmered as two Disillusionment Charms dropped at once. Harry whirled around. His wand came up, but more people were behind him, and the ones in front of him were experts, separating so fast that he couldn’t track both of them at once, firing curses that bound his legs and took his wand away and made him sprawl on the ground like a doll.

Harry yelled, but they had already silenced his voice. Someone scooped him up and clapped a sack over his head. Other people hissed something urgent and close, and then they were Apparating.

Harry didn’t get a chance to see faces, so he didn’t really know who they were. But he had suspicions anyway, beating in his head with the irrational strength of certainty.

These were the people who had taken and tortured Draco, who had cast _Nova Cupiditas_ on him.

And now they had come for Harry.


	13. Baker's Dozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Draco woke to heat, and hatred.

He didn’t know what had happened to make him feel that hatred, which seemed something outside of himself, hovering on his shoulder like a bird and able to fly away again as easily. But it was there, and it was enough that, when he turned his head and tried to focus his eyes on the bubble, Harry wasn’t sitting beside him. In fact, when Draco carefully listened, he didn’t think Harry was in the room.

That made him snarl. He tried to sit up and reach out with the sense in his chest that made him aware of where Harry was at all times, and ran into an invisible barrier. There was something in the house that kept him from probing after Harry, and Draco briefly wondered if Granger had cast some spell.

Then he realized that the simplest explanation was the likeliest, too: that he couldn’t feel Harry because Harry wasn’t there.

His full-throated howl of rage made Granger come pounding into the room, her wand held out in front of her and her eyes bewildered. Draco ignored her. He had his attention on the bubble surrounding him, the first of the walls that he would have to pass if he wanted to find and catch up with Harry again.

The jealousy had swept in and cleared his mind, the way Draco vaguely remembered it doing once before. The lust blinded him. The jealousy made him think rationally, because he had to find a way to take Harry away from whoever might be touching or holding him at the moment.

Harry had said last night that the Weasel had left the house. What if Harry was at his house with him? Or with his sister? Draco had seen the way they touched, Harry and the Weasel, casually intimate. That could mean that Harry romped pretty often in the sister’s bed, or the brother’s, or—

He had thought about that deliberately, not because he couldn’t help thinking it, and it worked as it had worked when he was in the warded circle in Harry’s lab. The rage and hatred built in him, sinking deep claws and flexing, and unleashing the restraints that usually kept his magic imprisoned, like the magic of any adult wizard who had got used to using a wand and climbed past the accidental outbursts of childhood.

Draco screamed his fury, and the bubble fell in ringing shards around him. He stood up, shook himself, and looked around, but he didn’t spot his wand right away. He turned to Granger, barely noticing the wand in her hand. It seemed like an annoyance now, more than anything. If she had information about where Harry was, if she’d hidden him away deliberately so that Harry could cavort with the Weasels, he would torture that out of her, but for now, he needed his wand more than anything else.

“My wand,” he said.

“Malfoy,” Granger said. “What are you doing?” She had walked backwards so that she was against the doorway, and stood there as if she intended to bar his passage beyond it with her life. The sight made Draco want to smile, but he snarled instead. Granger was too likely to get in the way and prove a distraction from his important task of finding Harry.

“Searching for what’s mine,” Draco said. He could barely speak the question. The lust hadn’t come back, but the jealousy was close to choking him, because his sense of Harry had not only confirmed that Harry wasn’t in the house, it was reaching out and not finding a trace of him _anywhere._ Not in the streets nearby, not in the buildings that stood within reach.

“Where is he?” he demanded of Granger, even as his desperately reaching magic found his wand and brought it skimming into the room between Granger’s legs.

She leaped and stared at him, more cautious than ever around him because he was armed now. “He—he went to the Manor to see if your mother had any information on the curse in her books,” she said, testing each word as if she thought it would make Draco attack her. “He should be back soon.”

Draco snarled again. There was Lucius at the Manor, who wanted to hurt his Harry, and who looked enough like Draco that Harry might be forgiven for straying thoughts—if Draco was the kind of person to forgive.

But a moment later, as his thoughts fixed on the house, he received a clear impression of it standing open and empty. His mother wasn’t there, and his father was hiding somewhere on the grounds, and unless they had killed Harry and buried his body in the gardens, Harry wasn’t there, either.

“I need more than that, Granger,” he said, stalking towards her. Had Harry told her to conceal his whereabouts? He would regret that. He would regret anything but staying by Draco’s side and putting him first. If Draco was going to commit himself to someone like this, heart and soul, he deserved to have that commitment back. “What plans did he mention other than that? Why did he leave the house in the first place? Anywhere he went, we were to go together. He specifically _promised_ me that.” He realized that he was spitting and raving, but he didn’t care. Not if it frightened her enough to make her tell him the truth.

Granger backed away from him. Then she shook her head. “If he isn’t at the Manor, then I don’t know where he is.”

Draco thought she was telling him all she knew. And in any case, his sense of Harry had expanded again, spiraling further and further away from the Manor and Harry’s house, but still locking and orienting on details that felt familiar. Draco turned his head, sniffing the air, trying to understand the impressions that were pouring in on him.

And then he _did_ understand. He felt his mouth relax into a pleasant smile. Granger gasped, as if the change in his face was too great for her to stand. But Draco could ignore her easily. He knew where Harry was, and what he was doing there, and who he was with, and how he, himself, was going to respond.

Harry had been taken by the same people who had taken Draco, and brought to the same place.

Draco strode out of Harry’s house and went to Apparate, deaf to Granger’s cries behind him.

*

_Well, this isn’t good,_ Harry thought.

He was still in the sack, but he could hear the low, excited mutters around him, and feel the casual way that they handled him: tossing him on the grass, turning him over with a kick, crowding around him and laughing into their sleeves with excitement. Harry pretended to be unconscious still, but he didn’t think they were fooled. Someone had already come over, prodded him in the chest once with a finger, and then retreated.

Harry had had a bit of Auror training, not much, before he left the program. But he remembered how to read criminals from their body language—one of the most valuable things he had learned, he thought, because there were plenty of people who would want to hurt him even after he became a research wizard—and this body language said that they felt confident about their place and their plans and weren’t anticipating any sudden betrayal, the way that Harry thought they would have been wise to. Surely someone among them would think that the way they had cursed Draco was wrong, or get nervous about snatching the great Harry Potter and run tattling to the Ministry.

But it didn’t seem so. Instead, they clustered around him and laughed, and then they yanked the sack from his head with a suddenness that left Harry gasping.

A figure wearing a black cloak bent over him. Harry couldn’t see her face, hard as he stared, and she had fastened something on either side of his head so that he couldn’t turn it. The sounds and the smells, though, were the same as those of the meadow he had visited with Draco the other day. He thought that might be their first mistake, bringing him back to the same place they had cursed Draco.

Then again, no one knew where he was. They had snatched him before he could Apparate from his own street, which meant they must have been watching his house for some time, and he hadn’t managed to go to the Manor. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t panic until hours went by without his return, and maybe not even then, if they thought he was engaged in a long talk with Mrs. Malfoy. Why should he think rescue was coming?

He drew in a sharp breath and fought away the despair. Something would happen. They had made one careless mistake. They could make others.

“Mr. Potter,” the figure said. Harry wanted to say that it was a woman, but really, given the thick hood and the auditory glamour he had no doubt she was using on her voice, it was impossible to tell. “You should have left well enough alone. I don’t think I recall another case in the literature where someone helped the victim who was cursed to lust after them. It’s procedure in these cases to feel sorry and to ignore them. After all, there’s no cure for _Nova Cupiditas_.”

“You don’t believe that,” Harry said. “Not completely. Or you wouldn’t be upset that I was researching it.”

The woman paused. Only a slight hesitation, before she laughed, but Harry would remember it. Yes, they weren’t completely perfect, no matter how marvelous their snatch-and-grab techniques were. If nothing else, continued success might have made them overconfident. They could have protected themselves better if they had simply stayed far away from him altogether.

“You’re the Savior,” she said. “I suspect we should have thought of the possibility that you would try to help him first, the boy who had always tormented you.” She paused, and Harry glared at her. He didn’t see any possibility of trying to placate her. If they already knew that he wanted to help Draco, they wouldn’t be fooled by him widening his eyes and saying in an innocent tone that he didn’t want to.

“But you should understand one thing,” she went on, and her voice was low and ugly. “Draco Malfoy and people like him insulted and ruined the chances of many more people than they ever touched in the war.”

Harry pretended to listen to her. In reality, he was only listening insofar as any clues would come through her words or the references she made. He wanted to find some way out of this situation, and the longer she talked, the longer he would stay alive.

He thought she wanted to persuade him his actions were wrong, rather than simply kill him, or, worse, cast _Nova Cupiditas_ on him in turn. He could nod and make encouraging noises sometimes, like someone who could be persuaded, and then he would take her information and twist it against her like a weapon.

If he could.

“They barred the acceptance and entrance of Muggleborns into the Ministry and the wizarding world for a long time after,” the woman went on. “Now the children who come into the wizarding world for the first time are frightened by rumors of the war and the truth about what happened to people like them, and many of them go back to their parents and give up magic. The people who have the courage to stay, like your friend Hermione Granger, are rare, and they shouldn’t _have_ to have that courage. No one is asking the pure-bloods to face death and destruction. But someone should.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s what I don’t understand about your methods, though,” he said, trying to focus his eyes over her head while not making it obvious that that’s what he was doing. “I mean, why not go after the worst pure-bloods? Lucius Malfoy is bad, true, but Draco didn’t really do anything.”

“The worst ones are in prison, dead, or fled,” someone else murmured from beyond the restraints that kept Harry from turning. “We couldn’t hurt only them unless we wanted to confine our revenge unacceptably.”

“Be still, Worthy,” said the woman in front of Harry, not unkindly. Harry vowed to remember the name, though he doubted that it was a real one. “All pure-bloods are part of this culture that keeps Muggleborns estranged from their rightful heritage, Potter, not just the worst ones. To let some go unpunished would be tantamount to admitting that there was no point in hunting any of them.”

Harry didn’t understand the logic, but he would argue only as much as he needed to to keep the conversation flowing. He thought he had an idea, and so he flexed his fingers next to his hip and began to concentrate on his anger.

“Why use that curse, though?” he asked. “There must have been worse things you could do to them. More painful.”

“That death is painful,” the woman said. “But what matters more is humiliating them. Making them see that people of different ‘blood’ can still be desirable, even if it is magic that makes them feel the desire. We make them pollute themselves, and then they can’t talk about their precious purity.”

_Of course that’s what matters,_ Harry thought, and struggled not to roll his eyes. He watched her face instead, or the blankness in the hood where her face should be, and moved his hand a little more at his hip. He had used wandless magic once, when he was young and stupid, and blown up Aunt Marge. He ought to be able to use it again now, when he understood what was at stake, and when the same people who had persecuted Draco had taken him.

“But is pollution enough?” he asked. “Do you care about the suffering you cause people, like me, who might feel compassion for them—and for you, if your methods were different, or kinder?”

The woman drew breath to answer. Harry tensed, thinking he would wait until she had spoken a few sentences and was obviously engrossed in what she was saying, and then attack.

He never got the chance.

The air ripped open behind her, and Draco came through it, storming silver with madness and death.

*

The first thing Draco saw when he Apparated in was someone bending over his Harry, close enough that her chest could have touched his. She had boards fastened around his head so that he couldn’t turn away, and she was practically feeding him her breasts.

Draco raised his wand and destroyed her.

He could never remember what spell he had used afterwards. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that her head ripped from her shoulders and her body slumped over Harry, limp and dead and no longer a rival for his lover. Draco turned away for the moment and focused on the dozen other people who stood around the meadow.

They started scattering and yelling. Draco smiled. It didn’t matter. They had been here, and he thought he could track them to the ends of the earth if necessary. The jealousy rode him, shining and powerful, and kept the lust at bay. Like this, he was rational.

And like this, he was the doom of those who had tried to doom _him_.

His wand flickered, and bodies leaped apart in front of him. It flickered again, and chopped off the hand of someone who had crept up behind him, reaching for his wand. Draco pointed it at the ground, and the earth opened and then clamped shut like a set of traps around the legs of his enemies.

He wanted to save a few for later, so that he could torture them for information and then kill them slowly.

In high good humor that almost eclipsed the anger, he bounded after the people who stumbled over each other, too terrified to Apparate, or too slow. Or maybe they hated him too much to try. Draco didn’t mind. He was moving. He was protecting Harry. He felt better than he had since these bastards had cursed him. He was taking an _active_ part in his own preservation again, where, before, he’d simply had to sit around and wait for Harry to come up with something, or sleep behind the wards because he would fatally distract Harry otherwise.

He licked his lips, tasted something salty and stinging, and realized there was blood there. Draco shrugged and strode with a spring in his step back to Harry. It didn’t matter. He would share a kiss with Harry, and teach him to love the taste of blood if he didn’t already. Harry had been a soldier; Draco thought he would understand.

“Love,” he said, and the word buzzed in his mouth, making it holy. Harry would have to believe him after this, he thought. He no longer thought the curse was gone, but he believed it could be a source of strength. He reached down and unfastened the binders from either side of Harry’s head, then dragged the limp body of the woman he had killed off Harry. Once again, he held Harry safe in his embrace, and he closed his eyes as the curse filled him with an indescribable feeling. He could cut off his hand sooner than he could go back to not loving Harry, not holding him, not having rights to him that no one else had.

“I—” Harry pushed at Draco’s chest, and his eyes were wide and panicked. Draco didn’t understand that. Hadn’t he shown that there was nothing to be afraid of? He had taken care of all the attackers, and no matter how he looked around the meadow, no more appeared. Perhaps some had fled, but Draco didn’t think so. The blurs of light pushing and passing through his memory included no Apparitions. Eight people were dead, five trapped moaning in the ground. He thought he had seen thirteen when he came into the meadow.

“Tell me what’s distressing you, Harry,” he coaxed, and stroked the backs of his fingers across Harry’s cheek. He wanted to kiss him, but he would wait until Harry had spoken the words that obviously troubled him. It was a bit difficult to speak with one’s mouth full of tongue, after all.

But when that was done…

_I have to take him._

*

Harry couldn’t breathe.

In a few seconds, Draco had appeared, and had done all this, and then—

It had ended.

Harry stared around him, at the people with their bodies cut in half and their heads lying fifteen feet away from them and holes through the center of their chests. He didn’t recognize most of the spells Draco had used, despite his Auror training and the research he had done into obscure spells since he started becoming a research wizard. Draco had tossed Dark magic around as though it was a handful of straws, and then he had come over and tugged Harry up with his face covered with blood, his hair plastered with it, his eyes shining like galaxies. Harry doubted that he noticed anything but the feel of Harry’s own skin, given the restless way he was running his hands across it.

“I need to know why this happened,” Harry said. “I need to know how you found me,” he added, because he had only just then realized that Ron and Hermione hadn’t come with Draco, or Mrs. Malfoy. It would have made sense if someone else could have directed Draco, or tracked Harry, but it stunned Harry’s imagination to think that Draco had come here by himself.

Draco gave him a gentle, affectionate smile, and leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek. Harry tried not to flinch when he felt the still-sticky blood that his lips imprinted there.

“I woke up, and you were gone,” Draco said. “I’ve had a sense of you that pulled me to you before, when I was missing your body. The day we had the argument and you went down into your lab, remember? Well, it happened again, and this time, it reached out until it found you.” He gazed around the meadow contemplatively. “I think it probably helped that they were stupid enough to come back here. I wouldn’t have found you as fast as if they took you someplace unfamiliar, or further away.”

Harry blinked and shook his head. The prisoners were moaning. He knew Draco had left them alive deliberately, but it made him start to think that Draco could have left them all alive, and nothing productive would come of allowing his thoughts to wander that way. He had to get back to something more productive, before he collapsed of exhaustion or shock.

Or before Draco started trying to kiss him.

“How could you act like that?” he asked quietly. “Why wouldn’t you kill the person who was on top of me and then snatch me up and leave? The lust—it shouldn’t give you another choice.”

He held his breath, in case referring to the lust would change Draco’s behavior, but Draco simply gave him an adoring glance and smoothed down the hair on the back of his neck, murmuring something about his scent that Harry couldn’t understand fully. “I would have done that if the lust commanded me,” he admitted. “But it’s the jealousy that gives me the ability to act like this, that made me able to break the bubble, and that lets me think about something other than fucking you.” He moved his hips forwards, and Harry felt his erection. He had to wonder how long Draco had been like that, and how long since it had started to hurt. “Not that fucking wouldn’t be nice.”

His eyes had started to cloud over again. Harry spoke quickly, reaching up so that he could clasp Draco’s neck in his hand. Draco arched towards him with the low, moaning, rumbling noise that Harry had heard him make a few times before. “The jealousy is stronger than the lust, you think?”

“I think so.” Draco smiled at him, his need plain in his face. Combined with the blood and the casual way he had destroyed or captured thirteen people, it was terrifying. “Harry, I’m ready to stop talking about this and start with you now.” His hand slid down Harry’s body and squeezed at his arse.

Harry caught his breath, gulped, and then shook his head. “I can’t let you do this, Draco,” he said. “The jealousy makes you rational, and we have to question these men and women while we have them.” He wouldn’t put it past whoever really controlled this group to either rescue them or make them commit suicide.

Then he took a good look at the prisoners and thought again. They all looked utterly stunned. Their heads lolled, and they kept their eyes, which shone with tears, away from the dead as if they had never seen death before. Harry remembered that he’d thought them self-confident. Maybe too self-confident, to the point that retribution had never caught up with them before.

“Harry,” Draco whined. “Please.”

Harry winced and took a risk. If he was right, then he could use the jealousy against the lust to make Draco pay attention to him. But if he was wrong, he might be condemning himself to pain and the prisoners to death. “Draco, I want you to be calm,” he said. “I might want someone else if you can’t be calm.”

Draco straightened and glared at him. “ _Fine_ ,” he said. “I’ll be cool as a glass of ice water. But you’re going to owe me for this.” His hand closed down, crushing Harry’s wrist.

Harry gave him a fragile smile and tried to step away so that he could find his wand. Draco let him get to the end of his arm and then restricted his movement with a faint smirk on his face, as if asking Harry why Harry had thought that he would manage to escape.

Harry bowed his head tamely, and let Draco lead him.

All the while, his brain raced, drawing conclusions and discarding them, trying to understand the new evidence of the curse this series of events provided them with, and trying to decide what he should do with it.

And trying not to think about the murders Draco had just committed.

Because of him.


	14. Unlucky Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“I want to know your name.” Harry’s voice was growing fragile and shrill with frustration, Draco noted, concerned. He didn’t know why Harry hadn’t simply let him torture these people for information in the first place. They had hurt both Draco and Harry. That meant they had _earned_ their status of victims. Instead, Harry sat there and questioned them, and he had no recourse when they turned their heads away or spat at him.

Well, he had one recourse, the one he always did. Draco had cursed the one who spat at Harry, so casually that Harry didn’t realize what was happening before it was done. When the woman began to vomit blood, though, Harry had turned on Draco as though he was the one at fault, shaking his head with furious tears starting to life in his eyes.

“You can’t _do_ that, Draco!” he’d shouted.

Draco took off the curse, but he didn’t understand, and Harry didn’t bother to explain his reasoning. He’d simply turned away again, his shoulders hunched as though he was bracing himself against cold winds, and he flinched when Draco tried to touch him. That hurt the most of all, Draco thought, though a lot of things hurt right now—his soul, his cock, his heart—and it was getting difficult to sort them out.

And, as he had foreseen would happen, their prisoners went right back to not giving them answers. Only pain would compel them to respond, not Harry’s constant questions.

Draco leaned forwards now and touched Harry in the shoulder with one finger. Harry spun to stare at him, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving. Draco stared, lost in the sheer glory that was the sight of Harry until Harry sighed and snapped, ungraciously, “What?”

“I told you that simply interrogating them wouldn’t work,” Draco murmured. “Will you allow me to try something? Please?” he added, because he knew the automatic refusal that would rise to Harry’s lips all too well by now.

Harry sighed. “I can’t—Draco, I can’t permit that. They don’t deserve to suffer pain just because—”

“Just because they made me suffer?” Draco asked. “Just because they made _you_ suffer? I’m curious about your standards for someone who does deserve it, then, if those crimes aren’t enough.” Jealousy sleeted through him again when he thought about the other people Harry might consider worthy of defending, but Draco soothed it by reminding himself that Harry was treating his own pain, like Draco’s, as unimportant. In this way, they were equals. And it mattered to Draco that Harry should think of them the same way. Sooner or later, he would have to start talking sense, because he couldn’t feel Draco’s pain, but he could feel his own.

Harry swallowed and stared at the ground. “No one should be tortured,” he whispered. “No one deserves that. I had hoped that we could learn their names and purpose, at least, but I think we should give them to the Aurors.”

“Really?” Draco hardened his voice. He had to make Harry see the truth, and if that meant he must be a little harsh, then he would be. Harry would thank him for it in the end. “And if there are sympathizers with this group among the Aurors? Or if someone ‘mistakenly’ allows them to get away or resist interrogation? If they have allies in the Ministry, it would explain why their group managed to evade arrest for so long.”

Harry stared at him with his mouth open. Draco smirked sadly and reached up to place a finger under Harry’s jaw and tilt it shut. “You’re staring,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stand the way that makes you look.”

Harry pulled his head back with a flush and a frown, one that Draco wanted to kiss away. But Harry had been most emphatic about not doing anything in front of their enemies, which Draco could understand, in a way. He would have liked to flaunt his successful seduction of the Boy-Who-Lived, the person they thought they were cursing him to long after and never be with, but on the other hand, he could do without the eyes that would rouse his jealousy. “I can’t think that all the Aurors are corrupt,” Harry muttered.

“Not all of them, no,” Draco said. “But it would only take one corrupt one to cause a lot of trouble. There was a corrupt one a few years ago, wasn’t there? And it took them months to discover him.”

Harry rubbed one hand over his mouth in meditation. Draco caught his hand and spread it tenderly, touching the tendons at the base of the fingers with a soft stroking motion until Harry’s flush deepened. Draco knew that he was only feeling embarrassment rather than acting in a sexual fashion—the Cold Water Curse ensured that—but he thought it charming anyway.

“What about Ron?” Harry asked. “Would you trust him? He’s an Auror, and he’s my best friend. He would do anything for me.”

“Except help me,” Draco said. “I know the rows you had about taking me to St. Mungo’s. He thinks you should give up on me. How much more tempting will he find that once he has the criminals in hand and thinks that he can put paid to one part of this crime? Once no one else is in danger of being hurt, will he mind the sacrifice of me so much?” He used his hold on Harry’s hand to draw him closer. Harry allowed it, caught up in his own thoughts, and Draco turned him so that Harry’s back pressed against his chest. He liked this position, the way that it made him feel as if he were curving around Harry and sheltering him from harm.

“I trust him,” Harry said at last, “but I can see why you wouldn’t.” Then he shook his head. “But I can’t let you torture them either, Draco, so if we don’t give them to the Aurors, we can’t learn anything from them.”

Draco stroked Harry’s spine. Harry started, only seeming to realize how close they were now, and tried to break free. But Draco couldn’t allow that, not without feeling a sense of desolation that made it seem as if he stood on a heath in the middle of winter, so he held him closer and raised his wand. “I know Legilimency,” he said. “I can enter their minds, if you permit me to do so.”

Harry turned and frowned at him. “Why are you waiting for my permission? You cursed that one without my permission earlier.”

“I don’t need your allowance to defend you,” Draco said, and held Harry’s gaze. “But this is something else, something that you seem to have strong feelings about. Will you let me read their minds without interfering?”

Harry swallowed. “I—didn’t think of it that way,” he said. “I don‘t like having power over people. _Merlin,_ I hate this curse.”

“Now, that’s simply nonsense,” Draco said lightly as he focused on the woman he had cursed earlier. She was a tall, striking witch with auburn hair, whom Draco was sure that he would remember if he had ever seen her before. She glared at him with implacable hatred, and seemed to be readying herself against his Legilimency, but that would do exactly nothing without the Occlumency shields that Draco highly doubted she had. “You have power over people because of your knowledge and your name. You should face up to reality instead of trying to deny it, Harry. I’m sure that you would find your life running better, more smoothly.”

Harry muttered something Draco didn’t listen to. He pulled Harry further towards him, instead, cradling him with one arm and his thighs, making Harry gently aware of his erection, while he murmured, “ _Legilimens_ ,” to the witch.

Even as his mind blasted into the witch’s thoughts, most of his attention remained on the sad fact that Harry still hadn’t acted as though he noticed Draco’s need. There would have to be something done about that, and soon. Draco wanted Harry to enjoy it, and that meant waiting until the Cold Water Curse wore off, but in the meantime, he was sure that Harry was generous—and loving—enough to give him some relief.

*

Harry closed his eyes. The shock had begun to fade, and what had happened here was catching up with him.

Asking the people who had taken him and Draco, and hurt Draco, questions had seemed like the obvious tactic at first. Harry knew he should turn them over to the Aurors, but he also knew that the Aurors weren’t commonly eager to release the facts they gathered. Harry thought names and motivations were the least he and Draco deserved, and they might not get all of them if they were part of the trial only on an official basis.

He hadn’t anticipated the wall of silence he ran into, especially considering how talkative the woman who had spoken to Harry had been…

Until he looked around the meadow again, and at Draco and his own body, and found himself seeing it through their eyes.

Eight of their friends and associates had just died, in a swift, bloody way that none of them had anticipated or fought against. Someone they had thought safely disposed of had come out of nowhere to claim revenge. Draco and Harry were still covered with the blood of the dead. Hatred could well prevail over fear in a setting like that.

Harry had cast Cleaning Charms on himself and Draco, at least, but the impression remained, and it seemed that these people were intent on one last revenge: depriving Harry of information that he had been foolish enough to show mattered to him. If he had questioned them under a mask of indifference, perhaps one of them would have spat the answers out.

Gloomily, he watched as Draco sifted through the woman’s mind, wincing when he saw the expression of helpless outrage in her eyes. He had felt that way when Snape attacked his mind. And it had _hurt_. Not as much as physical torture, no, but it had still been a violation. Harry wondered if he should ask Draco to stop, demand that they turn the criminals over to the Aurors after all and forget about learning in detail who they were or why they’d done this. They should focus on doing what was right, not what would benefit them.

Draco’s hips flexed, and Harry felt his erection rubbing against his arse.

Harry wanted to cover his eyes, but that would seem like an admission of weakness to most of the people there and would draw concern from the most important one, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse. It was precarious enough already. He had almost managed to forget about the curse, since Draco acted near-rational under the influence of the jealousy, but _Nova Cupiditas_ was still a factor. Harry was lucky to have preserved the balance and spared lives for as long as he had, he knew.

He was so _fucked_.

So he stood there and let the Legilimency happen, until the way that Draco tightened his hold on Harry’s shoulders and breathed told him that he was out of the woman’s mind. She, meanwhile, slumped forwards and stared at the ground.

“Her name is Ariadne Kitchen,” Draco said, his voice sparking with several different emotions. His lips brushed Harry’s hair, and he moaned slightly, but then went on as if nothing had happened. Harry told himself to remember that. It could be important when he was trying to cure the curse after this.

_Which is yet another thing that we have to do._

“She and most of the others call themselves, or think of themselves, as the Seekers of Justice.” Draco sounded normal in the way he sneered the title, and Harry struggled to seize and hold that memory. He would use it as a barrier against any temptation to go easy or slow in curing Draco. _This_ was the way Draco should sound, not tender. Not loving. “They’ve been involved in most of the Dark curses laid down on pure-bloods, but not all of them. They decided to target me because they thought my father hadn’t paid enough and I hadn’t paid at all. And they were convinced that the most horrible thing they could do to me was make me fall in love with you.” He sighed into Harry’s ear. “Little did they know.” His hips flexed again, and Harry could feel his cock making a small damp spot against Harry’s back.

Harry swallowed and tried not to move away. He wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of that right now. There were other things they needed to do first. “Yes,” he said. “Little did they know. What did they think I would do? Have you found any trace of that?”

“Of course,” Draco said, sounding more than faintly surprised. “Their intentions towards you were the first thing I looked for, before her name.” He tightened his arms around Harry’s waist. “You’re my life. You come first for me.”

Harry shook his head, blinking hard at the tears stinging his eyes, but before he could say anything, a snort from one of the men interrupted him. Almost glad for the interruption, Harry turned to face him. “Yes?”

This wizard had a small, neatly-trimmed beard and dark eyes that were rimmed red from weeping. Harry was horribly afraid that some of the people who had died here had been especially close friends of his, or family members. _That wasn’t my intention,_ Harry wanted to say. _When you captured me, I never thought it would end this way._

But there were so many twisted threads, including the fact that they wouldn’t have died if they had left well enough alone with Draco, and so Harry waited for him to speak instead of speaking himself.

“This is disgusting,” the man hissed. “Have you thought about what you’re doing? You, the Savior and the Chosen One, with a Death Eater for a lover? You’re a _half-blood._ You should be on our side. Do you think they would have welcomed your mother, had she lived? I don’t believe it. You ought to know who he is and what he’s done, what being a Death Eater _means_ , better than anyone, but instead you extend your compassion to him as though he was someone to be pitied. It’s _disgusting_.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Draco was there first. His voice was low and ugly, upset and smug at the same time.

“You never thought that, when you cursed me, it would end by both of us falling in love with each other, did you?” he asked in satisfaction. “Oh, no, you perfectly understand the nature of Dark magic, and revenge—your ‘justice’—would never turn on you. You thought the universe acted in accord with your perfect moral principles, the way you believed Harry did. So sorry to disappoint you.”

The wizard sneered at him. “You’ve probably raped him already, and he’s too compassionate to put you in Azkaban where you belong.”

“Who started this?” Draco’s voice had sunken and turned cold. Harry leaned closer to him, in hopes that that would calm him down, but this was the first time when Draco didn’t seem to notice. “If you hadn’t cursed me, then your precious Savior wouldn’t have _dirtied_ himself with me. Your own interference caused what you profess to deplore.”

The wizard shook his head, refusing to admit what Harry thought he _had_ to see was the truth. “You aren’t really in love with him, any more than he is with you. It’s a case of magic on one side and mistaken pity on the other—”

His voice cut off in a shriek, and Harry saw blood go flying from his mouth as his teeth clapped shut on his tongue. The shudders that racked him were ones Harry had recognized. Somehow, Draco had cast a nonverbal Cruciatus without Harry, who stood so close to him, ever noticing the movement of his wand.

_Fuck!_ Harry slashed forwards with his wand and then whirled around to face Draco, even as his silent _Finite_ canceled the Unforgivable. Now that he was angry enough, he noted, he could easily break free of Draco’s grip. Draco was staring at him with his mouth open, but that was something they would just have to live with.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” he asked. “He insulted us. He was speaking lies. Of course I was going to silence him. But I wouldn’t have done it that way if I had known you would object.”

Harry wanted to scream with rage, but it was difficult to get his point across while doing that, so he settled for speaking slowly and patiently. “I’m objecting because the curse is changing us, Draco, making us into what they think we are,” he said shortly. “You’re—you’re better than this. You weren’t a murderer, but now they’ve made you kill people, and torture them, and—this can’t go on, Draco. You must see it can’t. I can’t have someone who likes to torture, who thinks it’s _right_ to torture, defending me that way. We have to deal with things a different way. We know some names and their basic motivations now. You can Legilimize Kitchen again to get more, if you want to. But then we’re handing them over to the Aurors.”

Draco lowered his head. He seemed to be thinking deeply. Harry wondered if the lust was overcoming the jealousy and braced for an attack, but in the end Draco shook his head and replied in a soft voice.

“Harry. This is different. Yes, I agree, I can’t randomly go around murdering and torturing people. But these are people who deliberately set out to hurt me, and who didn’t care if they hurt you. In fact, they predicated you not feeling any pain on the conclusion that you were an arsehole, which any sane wizard has to be able to see that you’re not. I’m getting our own back. And if you won’t take revenge for yourself, well, I’m here for you.”

Harry closed his eyes. He must be more tired than he thought, because Draco’s argument sounded reasonable. And he knew that some people in the Ministry could see things the same way. Because Draco was under a curse, he could be excused for using an Unforgivable and for the murders.

Perhaps. Harry knew there was an anti-pure-blood faction that would work against him being given mercy.

Harry exhaled weakly. Fuck. No matter where he turned, he was doing something wrong, something that was unlikely to get Draco cured, something that excused crimes or plunged Draco deeper into madness. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He would have liked someone to take over and make the decisions for him.

Except that he couldn’t allow decisions for things that he knew to be wrong, and he couldn’t allow decisions that would isolate Draco, trap him, or render it impossible for him to survive. Even if Harry disclaimed all personal feelings for Draco, he thought he had invested too much in him to allow someone to take him away.

He opened his eyes, determined to find a way through the madness, and found Draco in front of him, staring into his eyes with a yearning expression.

“I need you,” Draco whispered. “Please? Will you?”

Harry seized the first straw in the flood that he could think of. “In front of people who despise us?” he asked, gesturing to the wizards and witches who stared at them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said. “All the better. They’ll see me assert my claim.” His eyes had acquired the dazed, fiery sheen that Harry knew well. “Please, Harry. I need this.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

And again Harry was tempted to give in. The same way that Draco’s arguments made a sick kind of sense, it would help if he gave in, let himself bring Draco off, and then used the ensuring period of lucidity to make the decisions he needed to.

But he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t help. It would result in more depravity instead of less.

Still clinging to his spinning moral compass despite everything that had happened to upset it, Harry pressed his wand to Draco’s temple and murmured, “ _Somnus._ ”

He really didn’t expect Draco, rather than falling asleep, to grab his wrist and give him a glare of betrayal.

*

Harry had tried to _send him to sleep._

That was the ultimate sign, Draco thought, that he would rather do anything than sleep with Draco. The ultimate sign that he didn’t feel as much for Draco as Draco felt for him. Oh, Draco had suspected it when Harry seemed uncomfortable with his confessions of love, tried to avoid them, and acted as though he had something important to do whenever Draco pressed him to fuck, but he had thought that he could simply wait and that love would grow in Harry, called forth by his own.

_Obviously not, if he’s going to send me to sleep whenever I start to press my claim,_ Draco thought, his gut churning with sickness. He tried to keep that out of his gaze and only show the anger, though. Harry would take advantage of his grief and mock him if he saw it.

“A sleeping charm,” he drawled. “Should I feel flattered that you think you have to stop me with that instead of simply asking me to back away, or insulted that you would try such a simple spell?”

Harry gaped at him, his mouth and eyes open so wide that Draco thought he could see into the emptiness inside them. The emptiness where love of him should have bloomed and didn’t, Draco thought.

His mind rebelled then. Draco couldn’t believe that he was sacrificing himself for nothing, that he could pour his soul out to Harry and Harry would turn away. No, it had to be something else. Some _one_ else. Perhaps Harry was still in love with the She-Weasel, or fancied himself to be. Or perhaps he had seen someone recently that he thought he was cheating on with Draco.

Draco wouldn’t allow that. He suspected that he couldn’t actually compel love from Harry, but he could take steps to ensure that Harry showed certain signs only to him, only performed certain actions at Draco’s command.

Draco cast two spells of his own, in quick succession. “ _Iussu castitas. Somnus._ ”

Harry hardly had time to jerk his head up in alarm before he slumped against Draco’s chest. Draco stroked his cheek and his hair for a moment, feeling the warmth under his hand and hoping against hope that Harry would open his eyes, smile, and return the feelings that Draco knew had grown in himself.

But nothing happened, of course, given that one of his spells was a sleeping charm. Draco shook his head and turned to the wizards and witches staring at him.

He cast spells efficiently that bound them, put them to sleep, and rendered them invisible to anyone who might come searching the meadow. He wanted them around to deal with at his leisure, and that meant keeping both Aurors and randomly passing Muggles or wizards from interfering. He would bring Harry back when he had convinced him of the righteousness of taking revenge, and Harry would smile on him and agree.

Draco had no doubt that he could actually convince Harry.

He smiled and scooped Harry up now, murmuring a Lightning Charm. Harry was far from fat, but Draco didn’t want to stagger under his burden, as he would if he was actually carrying Harry’s full weight.

“I’ll make you see,” he whispered to Harry’s motionless form. The lust and the jealousy danced around him, warm and swirling, but a third emotion had joined them, as glassy and clear as the light that filled Draco’s mind. He knew it was his love. “I’ll _make_ you see that you have to love only me, and that there’s no one else in the world for either of us, now and forever. And I can take you to a place where we won’t be disturbed while we’re doing it.”

He was grateful, now, for that period about two years ago when he had resented his parents and moved out to live in sulky independence. It hadn’t lasted long, but he had maintained a small house that he’d never told anyone else about where he could go to be alone and think. Since no one else knew it, no one would think to look for Harry there until Draco was done with him.

He made sure he had Harry’s wand, and then Apparated.


	15. A Hand and a Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry came slowly to life. That was what it felt like, rising back to the surface the way he had after Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse on him in the Forbidden Forest, rather than simply opening his eyes because he’d had a sleeping charm cast on him.

_A sleeping charm. Fuck._

Harry tried to bolt out of bed, but something soft and silky immediately restrained him. When he looked down at himself, he realized that he wore a white robe that was practically transparent, and which had long extensions attached to the sleeves and to the portion that swirled around his legs. Those extensions had already curled around his wrists and ankles. While they didn’t attach him to the bed he was lying on, Harry knew that he wouldn’t get far trying to walk or use his hands in this outfit.

“You’re awake.”

Draco’s voice smoldered with lust. Harry jerked his head up and pushed himself back towards the middle of the bed, wary. He didn’t want Draco touching him when he had that sound in his voice. The curse could well take over.

_If it hasn’t already._ Harry remembered the sleeping charm, and from one of the words in the spell Draco had cast on him before that, he was also fairly sure that Draco had magically ordered him not to have sex with anyone else, either. There was no reason for him to do that unless he thought he had a rival Harry hadn’t introduced him to yet.

Draco stood in the doorway of the small, dim bedroom he’d given Harry, his face and body barely lit by the tiny fire. Harry’s mouth dried out anyway. If things had been sane and there had been no curse, he might have told Draco that he had no rival because no one could hold a candle to the way that he looked at the moment.

His hair was soft and just recently dried, and fell around his face so that it delicately framed his cheeks. His eyes had a fire deep in the back of them that Harry had never seen directed at him. Everyone else was either too insincere or too insipid. And Draco wore a white robe, too, though his wasn’t transparent and had no attachments to restrict his movements. Harry could see the jut of his hipbones and his erection anyway, and the proud way that he carried himself, and the dance-like movements with which he came slowly forwards.

“Harry,” he whispered. “I’m ready for you. When will you be ready for me, I wonder?”

Harry lowered his eyelids as if he was shy or trying to flirt, but in reality, he was darting a look around the room for his wand. He didn’t see it. He nibbled his lip, knowing that he might be able to summon it with wandless magic if he was angry or desperate enough, but not sure that he should do so until Draco was more off-guard.

“I took you away from them,” Draco went on softly, coming into the room, his hands busy on the buttons of his robe. He shrugged it off, and Harry turned his head sharply away, his ears burning more with the thought of violating Draco’s dignity by looking at him naked than with sheer embarrassment. “All the ones who didn’t understand us, all the ones who might have seen you when you’re _mine_. I hope that you’ll trust me enough to let me make love to you now. I have you alone here. You can’t see anyone else, and you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you or stopping us. Will you consent?”

_He sounds like a conqueror talking to a subdued nation,_ Harry thought, deliberately using the ridiculous thought—Draco had said all of that in a soft, husky voice that made his mind react—to distance himself from his immediate emotions. Draco had just given him valuable information, although he might not realize it. Harry was in a house alone with Draco, then, which meant he couldn’t count on quick rescue from his friends. It was probably a house that no one else knew about.

Harry did know that, if anyone could discover where they were through some logical method and ultimately find them, it would be Hermione. But it would take her some time, and by then Harry would have been raped.

_Or Draco will have been,_ Harry thought, and his head turned despite himself so that he could lock his eyes on Draco. He wanted to resist, he _did_ , but it felt as though someone had gripped either side of his neck in powerful hands.

Draco stood proudly before Harry, his cock jutting out. It had a red-purple flush on it that looked painful. His eyes were wide enough that Harry could see them as drowning, liquid pools, the pupil taking over. His chest bore a network of fine silver scars, but every other inch of his skin looked unmarked, white and shining—lit from within by the same fire that animated his eyes. He lifted his arms and turned them outwards, so that Harry could see the fine bones in his wrists, and then arched his neck to the side. Harry saw the skin fluttering quickly over the pulse.

“It’s all yours,” Draco said, and his voice was smug and serious at the same time, a combination of emotions Harry didn’t think anyone else could have pulled off. “Whenever you want, Harry. Just reach out and touch me.” His voice sank to a throb that Harry could feel in his groin, like the pulsing of blood. “Please do that. I’ve been waiting for you, all my life. I was living a dream until I woke up and saw you.”

Harry took a deep breath. He had to fend Draco off until he could come up with a plan. That was true no matter what the plan ultimately turned out to be. He was safe from the sexual effects Draco was trying to provoke in him, he reassured himself, thanks to the Cold Water Curse. That meant it was nothing but self-indulgence to look at Draco, or pretend that he had no choice about doing so. “This is the curse,” he said. “You probably prefer people who are totally different from me, Draco.” He rifled through his mind, but couldn’t produce any memories of Draco being involved with someone. It wasn’t as though he’d paid much attention to his old rival’s activities in the last few years. “You want to marry a pure-blood witch who’s unlike me. Tall and delicate and blonde—you must want someone beautiful.”

*

Draco could have laughed at the weakness and wrongness of Harry’s perceptions, if they hadn’t made him want to weep instead.

Harry didn’t think he was beautiful? He couldn’t see himself, not the way his lips moved or how his eyes caught the light when he turned his head. Draco had heard person after person, usually some silly witch, sighing away about Harry Potter’s eyes over the years, and he had never paid attention. They couldn’t possibly be as amazing as the witches in question said, they only adored him because he was a hero, and that was the end of it.

But now…

Draco had to swallow away the jealousy that the thought of those witches brought him, because none of them had ever seen Harry like _this_ , kneeling, dressed in white like a virgin or a sacrifice, watching Draco with a face that didn’t need the fire to give it brilliancy.

How could he have got to this age without knowing how beautiful he was, especially when he was surrounded by people eager to praise him?

Draco shook away the question. The fact was that it had happened, and so he was the one who got to enjoy the fruits of Harry’s ignorance.

“You’ve had your chance to look,” he said, and came stalking forwards a few steps, his body curved so that Harry could continue to see his cock and his face. His groin ached and twitched. He’d lost count of the hours that he’d been erect; the sleeping charm hadn’t worn off Harry quickly, and neither had his interrogation of the Mudblood fanatics gone fast. Draco knew what he needed now, and he would be content if Harry required some coaxing first—that made it more likely that he would get to do certain things for Harry that he should have been used to already—but he needed to be inside Harry _soon_. “I think that you should have a chance to feel.”

He banished the ward that had surrounded the bed, invisible unless it was pushed against, with a flick of his wand, and then climbed onto it beside Harry. Harry stared at him, eyes very green, and opened his mouth in a protest.

Draco was tired of listening to them. While he wasn’t going to gag Harry, because he wanted to listen to that beautiful mouth as it parted in moans, neither would he give credence to his constant attempts to back away and lie and distract attention from himself any longer. Draco kissed him, and immediately thrust his tongue in.

It was better than before, hotter, sweeter, because now he knew what Harry tasted like and he wasn’t so caught up in surprise. But it also wasn’t enough. Draco eased closer, pushing his tongue deeper, pushing Harry back onto the pillows. He removed the robes with a murmured word, and they were naked against each other.

The sheer _sweetness_ of that, like someone placing a piece of ripe fruit on the most sensitive spot of his tongue, made Draco buck. His skin broke out in sweat immediately, and he only hoped that it wouldn’t feel too disgusting to Harry, because he knew that he didn’t have the strength to pull back. He clamped his teeth down on Harry’s lip and pulled, and Harry came towards him, gasping a little.

Draco smiled. He hoped that Harry would feel the smile and take it for the compliment it was, but he couldn’t spare the time to add reassuring words. He waved his wand, and a pot of lube came soaring over the bed to his hand.

It was time for him to take what he needed, and give Harry what he wanted.

*

_There’s no more time._

Harry shuddered. He knew the Cold Water Curse was protecting him, or he would already have been half-mad with lust and longing at the way Draco had revealed himself. He also knew that he had held off unacceptably long, only because part of him wanted to see what happened next.

But Draco was pouring lubrication over his fingers and reaching towards Harry’s arse. It was too much.

Harry made a grab for Draco’s wand. It was the only one close to him right now, and he knew from the war that he could use it with some degree of skill. Cast a spell that would carry him out of here and find him his wand, and then he could send a Patronus to Ron and Hermione and figure out a way to cage Draco—

But Draco seemed to have anticipated the move. He turned and pushed with one hand, and Harry was sprawled beneath him again, with Draco kneeling over him, panting, and Draco’s cock less than an inch from his arse. Harry maintained a steady gaze, because he wouldn’t give in to despair.

“I should have realized,” Draco whispered. “I do know a spell that removes the Cold Water Curse, and I should have thought to use it before now. I didn’t because it’s painful. But I can’t wait. Forgive me, Harry. _Cupiditatem refero_.”

Harry felt as though someone had dropped him into a bath of scalding water. He arched up, screaming, because the spell was boiling off a layer of skin, and it was reaching into the skin and the muscles beneath that, and it was soaking all the way through to the bone, and what was he going to do when it reached there?

But the heat halted suddenly, and, incredible as it seemed, when Harry blinked and glanced down at himself, he was unharmed. Draco smiled and reached out, stroking Harry’s cock with one finger.

It sprang to life, blood and more mortal heat flooding Harry, and he released a gasping cry as he understood. The spell had removed nothing more than the protective layer of magical indifference that the Cold Water Curse had coated him with.

Nothing more, and nothing less, than his only protection.

Draco’s eyes were enormous, and his scent was everywhere in Harry’s nostrils, and he seemed to have at least three hands, from the way they were working down Harry’s back and up his cleft to his hole and down in circles at the base of his spine. Harry tossed his head back, moaning helplessly, and felt longing lick at his skin as his cock fully hardened until he would have been willing to give in to Draco just to get it to stop.

But he knew he couldn’t. Even as Draco kissed him and stroked his nipples and pulled his legs gently apart, he knew there was some reason that he had to resist.

He just couldn’t remember _what_ it was.

*

Draco could have died in that moment and still been happy.

Harry’s eyes were soft now, and blazing. He responded to what Draco was doing, opening his mouth and writhing under him and sighing and whimpering when Draco touched the delicate skin under his ribs and on his hips. He was thrashing. His legs kept opening wider and wider, as if he wanted Draco to fit his whole body between them and up Harry’s arse.

Draco had to close his eyes and take a deep breath when he had that thought. It was—it was something he would have liked to do. Alas, they had to make do with physical reality.

But he was still going to make sure that the physical reality was so pleasant that there was nothing Harry wouldn’t do to retain and keep it. So he sucked Harry’s throat, and lapped at the hollow of his neck where his pulse beat, and kept up the stroking to cock and balls, chest and entrance, stomach and back, so that Harry’s senses were dazed and overrun with a flood of emotions. He didn’t think Harry would exactly request that he _stop_ , not anymore, but he might have doubts, and that would be tiresome.

By now, Draco had more than enough lubricant on his fingers and more than enough room to reach the place he wanted to go. He cast a murmured spell that raised the bed up beneath Harry’s arse and then stroked his entrance, gently, fingers probing in and home.

Harry’s entire body shuddered. Draco smiled. He had had lovers before who were sensitive on the arse, but no one like this.

_And I’ll never have anyone else again._

The thought brought him satisfaction, not distress. He knew already that monogamy was essential if he wanted Harry to be faithful to him in turn, and who else could compare?

He eased the first finger in. Harry seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and then he thrashed again, eyes widening until they shone like jewels. Draco had to lean down and kiss them shut, because much more of that stare and he would come before he got inside Harry. It would have been a relief for his erection at this point, but he was still determined that he would feel Harry’s heat and tightness around him before he did. Draco knew it would be hotter and tighter than anyone else, because it was Harry.

“Draco,” Harry said, and his voice broke in the middle so that he had to repeat the word before Draco could be certain of what it was.

Draco smiled and worked his finger deeper and deeper, twisting, turning, probing for what he needed to find. “Yes, love?” he whispered, and then frowned. Exactly how deep was Harry’s arse, how buried was his prostate? For a moment, Draco entertained the absurd notion that Harry would have cast a spell to hide it altogether. Considering how resistant he seemed to be to sexual pleasure, constant use of the Cold Water Curse and all, it would be like him to have done that just in case some random man groped his arse.

“I, need,” Harry said, the words broken again. Draco bent down and kissed his eyes and proceeded to work in a second finger.

“Yes?” he whispered. “Anything you need, Harry, ask for. I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never felt, and then I’ll suck you, and then you’ll fuck me, and we’ll stay in the bed until we’re wrung dry.”

*

Harry felt as though a hot wire had been pulled taut in his belly. It was vibrating, sending sharp buzzes out under his skin, and he could do nothing but shudder and roll his head constantly, trying to get accustomed to them.

The world was red. It was like being inside a ruby, listening to Draco complimenting him, whispering to him and bringing him closer and closer to the moment when he would explode. Or Draco would explode. Or they would both explode at once. Harry opened his eyes to the heavy, shimmering haze and clutched at Draco’s arms. He could feel two fingers inside him and knew that Draco would be inside him in a moment.

That was bad.

He couldn’t remember why. He had never been so overwhelmed by a feeling of lust before. It was as if the ending of the Cold Water Curse had brought all his denied feelings from the last few days crashing down on him.

_The Cold Water Curse._

From the bottom of his soul, from the depths of pain and pleasure and degradation and desire, Harry summoned up his strength.

“Draco,” he said softly. “I need something from you, right now.”

Draco bent closer to him, breath so excited that Harry couldn’t feel the separate puffs of it on his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “I only exist to give you what you need, Harry. What do you want?”

Harry felt a pulse of immense sadness that scattered the last of his lust. Draco shouldn’t say things like that. Even without the curse corrupting his mind, no one person should live for another like that.

Harry opened his eyes as though he were struggling against the weight of the lids, and stared at Draco. Draco stared back, blinking slowly and languorously. It was a battle not to get lost in those eyes, but Harry summoned the resolve from where he had summoned his strength and reached up to caress Draco’s cheek.

“Can you pull away from me?” he asked. “I’m not ready for this yet.”

Draco sighed. He never ceased the probing of his fingers, the rocking of his hips, both of which threatened to bring back the haze that had drowned Harry before. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself that that wasn’t Draco’s fault. He’d been taken off-guard by his own reluctance to hurt Draco. Clearly that was going to have to change, and he would have to use the kinds of methods that might hurt Draco temporarily to hold him back long enough for Harry to find the cure.

“You don’t think you’re ready for it right now,” he said. “But you will be when you feel my cock, I promise.” He reared back and picked up Harry’s body by the shoulders, rocking him into a position where he was poised to enter Harry.

For the last time, Harry had to fight temptation. Would it be so bad to let Draco take what he wanted? He would be willing, so it wouldn’t be rape for him, and he could ease Draco’s need and gain a period of lucidity after that—

But it would be him raping Draco.

And this really was about an underhanded attempt to slake his own lust.

Draco thrust forwards, a shallow motion that was enough to rub his erection against Harry’s arse and no more. Harry moaned. It was so _smooth,_ the slide, so heated, back and forth, and, he could imagine easily, forwards and back in a moment.

“Yes,” Draco hissed under his breath. His eyes were practically black. He looked down to watch himself enter Harry.

Harry’s hand, splayed out to the side freely, closed on the wand that Draco had left lying on the bed.

He cast a spell that threw Draco back against the edge of the bed, draping him half-on and half-off, so that he had to scramble and churn his limbs to keep his balance. Harry rolled to the side and bolted from the room, around the bed and through the door that Draco had used earlier.

“ _Accio_ Harry Potter’s wand!” he called as he went, because he doubted that he could waste much time. Draco would be after him in seconds.

He really didn’t anticipate the flying tackle that Draco made from the bed onto his back, knocking him down and locking him against the floor. Harry barely managed to hang onto the wand.

*

Draco’s mind spun with rage.

Who did Harry think he _was_? He pretended to consent, and then in the end he ran away and decided to play hard to get. Well, not now. Not _now_. Draco had been in the perfect position to enter Harry, had been sure that he was warm and loving and wanted it too, and had forgotten that Harry had never said he loved Draco and had in fact done some quite unloving things.

No more. No longer. Draco would take what he needed first and worry about what Harry needed later.

He kicked at Harry, trying to pin his legs out to the sides, but Harry flipped his head back sharply, so that his skull hit Draco’s nose. Draco’s eyes crossed, and he felt his fingers relax in spite of himself. Harry was on his feet in seconds and out into the corridors again, and Draco’s frustrated grab for him missed.

_We’re both naked,_ Draco thought in the one part of his brain that wasn’t given over to an immense snarl of frustration. _It shouldn’t be that hard to have some bloody sex, and yet of course he makes it that way. He’s Harry Fucking Potter._

Harry didn’t know the layout of the house. Draco kept that in mind as he ran after him, listening for the sounds of frustrated, pained breathing. Trying to run with an erection was no fun; Draco should know.

If Harry didn’t know the layout of the house or where it was, he couldn’t get away, even if he did have Draco’s wand. And surely he wouldn’t try to Apparate naked, not when he didn’t know how far away he was from home and whether a jump would suffice to take him across the width of a country or between continents.

Harry darted around a corner, and a terrible suspicion darted into Draco’s brain at the same moment. He reached out and pushed his anger and desire towards Harry the way he’d pushed against the bubble that had contained him back at Harry’s house, yanking, demanding, pulling his wand back to him.

It came flying, Harry letting out a slight cry that might have been pain from the wood stinging his fingers. Draco hardly cared about that, not when he could finally tie Harry down again and have him.

But it was too late. Harry had his own wand back, as Draco saw when he faced him. And he had that powerful, confident look in his eyes that Draco had seen when he faced Voldemort, never mind that he was naked and hard.

Draco hesitated, caught up in his admiration of Harry in that moment, and Harry’s body, and the way he _shone_ , and it was a moment too long.

“I hope this works,” Harry said. “I’m sorry, Draco. _Finite amorem._ ”

Draco fell to his knees, screaming, as the pain surged through him. Part of him was burning, although he couldn’t see what. He curled in on himself, trying to combat the flames, trying to beat them out, his hands striking his own skin with regular, small, ugly sounds.

And then it was gone. Then it was over. Draco raised his head and peered suspiciously in several directions, unable to imagine what had happened.

Only when he looked at Harry did he know. He still wanted him, he still bristled with jealousy at the thought of someone else having him, but his love was gone, and with the love, his wild lack of self-control.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, kneeling down but not trying to touch him yet. Draco was grateful for that consideration, as much as he could be, knowing what he had almost done and what Harry had witnessed. “I’m so sorry.”

Draco closed his eyes, and breathed, and turned his head away.

They stayed there like that, just breathing, until Harry cleared his throat. Draco turned to stare at him from tear-starred eyes, unable to say what he felt at the moment, or whether he desired Harry to speak or keep silent.

“I think—I think I know how to cure the curse now,” Harry said.


	16. Lucky Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry knew that he had been right. He knew that he had done the best thing he could, casting the spell that ended Draco’s unnatural love for him. He had thought about the emotion that made Draco hold and touch him like that, and known that it couldn’t be only lust, or Draco would have simply shoved himself inside Harry, the way that he almost had that first time in the meadow. It couldn’t be only jealousy, or Draco would have acted more rational and demanded reassurances that Harry was over any lover. And Draco had talked about it being love.

So Harry had used the spell that he had wrought himself, a variation of the common spell to end incantations, which had some power to ease the hold of love potions and make people think more rationally when they’d been hit by some of George’s pranks that induced infatuation. And it had worked.

Draco sat, in a thicker and less transparent robe now, on the couch near the fireplace of the drawing room, head turned away, and barely said a word when Harry sat down next to him, but it had worked.

“I think this is what’s happened,” Harry said, and sipped from the hot chocolate that he had found and made in the kitchen. He had asked Draco if he wanted some, but Draco had refused with a mute shake of his head. “The curse has at least three parts. I don’t know if the third part grew from the other two, or was always there and I didn’t see it at first, but it’s present. Lust, jealousy, and love.”

Draco tensed and still didn’t answer. Of course, Harry could understand that. His mind reeled when he thought about what they had been through in the last few days, and if he would be a long time in recovering from his own new scars, he could only imagine what would happen before Draco could overcome his.

“I thought it was probably the love that had taken over from the lust and the jealousy, since you were acting so differently,” he said. “I used the spell that ought to neutralize that part of the curse for a brief time. And it worked.”

Draco turned to face at him at last. He was clutching the pillow he’d sat next to close to his chest, and he had a shattered look in his eyes that Harry remembered from times that he’d tried to stand up to Dudley. Harry winced again, but took a deep breath. He owed this to Draco, at least, for not concentrating on the curse, for not taking precautions to ensure that Draco couldn’t curse him before now, for playing around and hesitating rather than doing what needed to be done.

“You never believed that I loved you,” Draco whispered.

Harry winced, but shook his head. If they were going to have to start over again from the beginning, it would be just as well to be _honest_ from that beginning, and show Draco what he really felt and thought. “No. Not when it came on so fast, when your original feelings for me were so different, and when the curse was there. And because I—I wanted it to be true,” he added hesitantly. He tried to laugh a little. “I know how that must make me look. Who wants to be loved by someone they’re trying to help, someone who needs _their_ care and compassion instead? It’s pure selfishness. But that’s the way I felt. I wanted it to be real, and that’s part of how I knew it wasn’t.”

*

Draco stared steadily at Harry. He could feel the great emptiness in him where the love had been rebounding from the clash of other emotions, but it wasn’t either lust or jealousy that was trying to overpower him now. It was pure frustration.

_I was wrong about him enjoying the attention in school. He’s not a big-headed hero. He’s a masochistic little pissant instead, who doesn’t believe that he deserves anything and distrusts all his desires._

Rationally, Draco knew that he should be grateful for those traits. It meant he hadn’t been raped. It meant that, if Harry could cure the curse, than he would have one less bad memory when he went back to trying to live a normal life.

But he didn’t feel that way. He wished Harry had let them sleep together. He wished he knew what it was like to feel the heat inside Harry that he had been dreaming of so intensely. He wished that he could have what he wanted because of the curse—Harry’s loyalty and devotion in return for his own—and also what Harry wanted for him, freedom from the curse and to govern his own actions.

Yes, it didn’t make a great deal of sense. That didn’t matter. Draco still knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t the compromise Harry offered.

Harry was wearing a complete set of clothes, Transfigured and altered from ones that Draco had left here. Draco could see, in one way, why he’d wanted to put them on, but then again, it wasn’t cold in the cottage. The clothes were a barrier of cloth between them, one that Harry seemed to think he would always need.

To keep his teeth from grinding, Draco asked, “But how does that lead you to knowledge of how to cure the curse?”

“I started thinking about the way the curse looked,” Harry answered, lowering his mug of hot chocolate to his lap so that he could gesture with one hand. Draco wanted to take that hand in his, lap between the fingers, and then suck them until Harry was begging. He had suffered the torments of denial; Harry should, too. “The pieces on your shoulders, the jagged ones I think are the jealousy, look like puzzle pieces. There are open spaces between the tendrils that entwine your head from the lust, too, and that coiling thing—the false love—leaves gaps. I think I can design a spell that will exploit those gaps, wrench them apart.”

“Fit a spell into the gaps like a piece into a puzzle,” Draco said flatly. He made himself listen to the words and the concept behind them, how dry it was, how unromantic. He hadn’t wanted it to be unromantic. He had imagined that he might end the spell by convincing Harry that Draco really loved him.

The love was gone now. But the anger remained, and the hope that felt pathetic and fragile without that false love to support it.

Harry gave him a pleased smile and nodded. “Exactly! I think it will take more than one try, and I’ll have to experiment a lot with static fields of magic and other spells to hold them in place. But we’ll get there eventually, Draco.” He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed Draco’s knee. “You’ve been so brave,” he added softly, as though Draco was an old dog with an injured leg. “But we’ll get you free.”

“That’s not what I want,” Draco said.

Harry’s face tumbled through a complicated mixture of expressions, then settled on staring disbelief. “What?”

“What I want,” Draco said, “is you looking at me the way I looked at you. Is you writhing under me and calling my name out, choked by your own sobs of pleasure. Is you away from anyone else, forever, kept far away from them, held there for _me_. Do you understand?”

Harry lowered his eyes and nodded. He looked so uncomfortable, so _pitying_ , that Draco wanted to strike him. “I know. I understand. That’s the three components of the spell talking, and I know that—”

“That’s what I _feel_ ,” Draco interrupted him, reaching out and curling his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “I don’t care if it’s false. I don’t care if I wouldn’t feel that except for the curse. That’s what I feel right now, and I want you to respect it.”

*

Harry took a deep, conflicted breath. He didn’t—well, he knew what Draco meant, but he had no idea what he could say to it.

He couldn’t pretend the curse was real, and that the love it inspired in Draco was a beautiful thing rather than a problem. The spell he had used was temporary, and had only worked because the false love was the emotion dominating Draco strongly then, rather than lust or jealousy. The way Draco immediately altered towards him told Harry that the “love” was all the curse’s fault.

_I want him to be the real person he should be. At the moment, he’s convinced that that’s this cursed one who’s in love with me, but he’ll realize better when I end the curse._

“Does that mean that you won’t let me experiment with the magic I need to end the curse?” he asked carefully. He pulled his wrist back into his own lap. Draco’s hand came with it, which meant that Draco ended up leaning closer to Harry.

Harry had to close his eyes. He hadn’t properly smelled Draco, before, caught up as he was in the reactions of his own body, and, before that, protected by the Cold Water Curse. It filled his nostrils like the heavy scent of roses now, and Harry had to keep his mouth shut so that he wouldn’t ruin a serious moment by letting slobber spill over his tongue.

“No,” Draco said. “I’ll let you do that.” He turned his head and breathed on Harry’s earlobe, which was dizzying and _stupid._ Harry couldn’t contemplate why he wanted Draco so much when he knew the source of that longing and Draco’s feelings towards him. Draco might think they were real; Harry never could. “But in the meantime, I want you to treat me as if I were an adult and not a child.”

“I need to protect you,” Harry said, forcing his eyes open and pulling back a little. That much, he thought he could do. “You can’t—don’t deny me that, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes widened and then grew dark again as he smiled. “Now you know how it feels,” he murmured, “to be frustrated.”

Harry sighed and, this time, took Draco’s fingers from his wrist. “Listen,” he said. “You have to keep in mind how much the curse has changed you. I doubt that you would ever want me if you were in your right mind, even if you saw me naked. Do you remember a lover that you had? I don’t know if you had one or not.”

“No one for a while.” Draco’s gaze was immovable. “You’re not doing as I ask. Treat me like this is real.”

“Then I can’t do as you ask,” Harry said, and made sure that his eyes were steady. “I have to think of the curse first, rather than keeping you comfortable.” He gestured around at the house. “Thinking of your comfort before ending the curse is what got us into this mess in the first place.”

*

Draco tore himself away, although his skin ached when he stopped touching Harry. He paced back and forth in front of the couch, and Harry watched him with his smug little purity and moral righteousness clutched to him like a toy doll.

Draco spun back towards him and launched the words that he needed to speak, whether or not they made a difference. Knowing Harry, they probably wouldn’t.

“You’re being absurd, Harry. How many people out of a thousand, out of a million, would think and act the way you’re thinking and acting right now? You distrust everything I say. You want me to go back to being some ideal Draco Malfoy, someone _you don’t know_ , rather than letting me be who I am right now. You’re just as bad as the people who cursed me in your own way.” (The mention of the Seekers of Justice reminded Draco of the people he had left bound and sleeping in the meadow, which did nothing for his temper). “Nothing about me is worthwhile unless you’ve processed it though your stubborn mind.”

Harry took a shaky breath and looked away. Draco watched him, hating and hungering for the sight of his face.

“Listen,” Harry said finally. Draco listened closely to his tone, but couldn’t tell just from that whether it would be another stupid denial or not, so he let Harry proceed for now. “I don’t know—Draco, I really don’t _know_ what’s you and what’s not. But I do know that I don’t want to find out I hurt you later, after you’re free of the curse, because I didn’t respect your dignity sufficiently or witnessed your humiliation.”

“You’re hurting me _now_ ,” Draco said.

Harry pulled at his hair. “Oh, fuck,” he said. “There’s no way to do this.” He started to rise from the couch, with that agitated manner that Draco knew meant he would stride out of the room.

He took a casual step towards the door, not really putting himself in Harry’s way but ensuring Harry would have to pass close to him to get out. “ _Listen_ to me, Harry,” he said. “There’s a way to do this, if you stop thinking about the future and think about the present. I’ll cooperate with you so that you can work on ending the curse, yes. But it would be better and easier for both of us if you stop thinking that something is wrong with you for not being perfect, and with me for not being disdainful of you.”

Harry stopped and stared at him. Then he said, “You mean that. As far as I can tell, given that you’re still under the curse, you really mean that.”

Draco fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “Yes, I do.” He reached out and cupped his hand gently around Harry’s cheek, smoothing his thumb back and forth, up and down. It was a struggle not to take more, but given what he would gain if he could just get Harry to believe him, he would restrain himself. “Are you going to help _me_ , or help this ideal that you’ve impressed into your stubborn brain?”

*

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, trying to use it as a counterpoint to the smooth caress Draco was inflicting on his face, trying to wake up from the daze that caress threatened to cast him into.

But it was practically useless. Harry knew that Draco was right. He had decided, without thinking about it or asking Draco’s input, that he would just have to do the opposite of whatever Draco demanded. But even that was a promise he hadn’t kept, because he had listened to Draco’s objections and taken them seriously.

And he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the man he had come to know more than he already had. He would just have to keep in mind that Draco’s attitude was _likely_ to change when the curse was gone, and that no matter how much it hurt, Harry would have to let him go and return to his normal life.

“All right,” he said. The words were thick and blocky in his throat. Harry cleared that and forced them out. “Fine. Let’s go back to my house, then. Ron and Hermione will be frantic, and we’ll have to use my lab and my notes.” He paused then. “What did you do with the Muggleborns who cursed you?”

Draco smiled. The smile flashed across his face and then lighted his eyes like the sun casting rays before it on the water. Harry shook his head and told himself not to be so stupidly poetic. Draco touched his cheek once more before he stepped away. He was moving more easily, Harry thought, and he didn’t think it had to do with the potion that Draco had taken for his bruises earlier. It came from confidence that Harry was no longer looking to run out the door as soon as he possibly could.

Harry bit his lip. He had a silent, fervent hope that Draco would really value this moment later as much as he seemed to right now, rather than cursing himself because he’d had a chance to distance himself from Harry and didn’t take it.

“Hmmm.” Draco rotated his head on his neck. “I left them bound, asleep, and invisible. I should go there soon to renew the sleeping charms, but we can go back and question them whenever we like.”

Harry frowned. “And you don’t think anyone will raise a clamor because so many of their relatives have disappeared at once?”

Draco snorted. “If they’re all Muggleborn, their relatives are outside the wizarding world, and won’t realize they’re gone for several days, most likely. If they’re not, or if they have friends who might be looking for them, I think those friends will be sensible enough to keep quiet.” Then he paused, raising his eyebrows, and added, “And if they’re not, then that’s another trail we can follow to them.”

Harry nodded. “Why don’t you go renew the sleeping charms? I’ll go to my house.”

“Make sure that you have both Weasley and Granger with you at all times,” Draco said, drawing his wand.

“Afraid that they might try to snatch me again?” Harry asked. “I would hope that the other members of the group wouldn’t know what’s happened yet.”

“No,” Draco said, and his eyes slid all the way down into blackness. “Because, if both of them are with you, you’re unlikely to be having sex with the other.”

Harry nodded, keeping all the objections that he could have voiced to himself. This was the way it was, while Draco was under the curse.

_No longer than that._

*

Draco appeared on the grass of the meadow and cast the charm that would reveal the sleeping forms to him. Already some of them were stirring and grumbling, though Draco wasn’t greatly bothered by that. He had taken their wands away, and they weren’t going anywhere without them. They didn’t have the strength that the curse gave him sometimes, to reach out and snatch his wand back when he needed it.

_And they won’t enjoy Harry’s company, either._

Draco bared his teeth. If he reached back to his memories of life before the curse, he knew that he wouldn’t find such viciousness. Oh, yes, sometimes he had wished for the power to hurt his enemies, the way that anyone else would, but he hadn’t actually put it into practice. It was a matter of reading Dark Arts book and idle daydreams.

And now he had used those spells, in many cases for the first time.

Draco paced among the sleeping forms, renewing the charm, and feeling touches of hatred and anger like the pawing of heavy hands, urging him to use those spells again. Harry had been distraught when he’d finished the battle. He wouldn’t notice if one of their victims went missing. His nostrils flared with the thought, and his wand seemed to orient itself on the chest of the sleeping Ariadne Kitchen of its own free will.

_No,_ Draco thought. _I can’t do that and expect Harry to continue to take me seriously. He’ll just decide that’s one more sign that I’m more disturbed than he likes by the curse, and he won’t listen to me._

So in the end, Draco simply renewed the sleeping charms and then Apparated back to Harry’s house. As he ducked in through the door, past the wards that were still weakened enough to welcome him, he heard raised voices. He rolled his eyes. Only Weasley and Granger would greet the story of Harry’s kidnapping with a row.

When he stepped through the doorway into the drawing room, two wands turned to train on him. Harry—whose body burned in Draco’s sight like a firework—reached out a commanding hand.

“Draco, please give me your wand,” he said.

“Why don’t you tell me a bit more about what’s going on first?” Draco asked, and leaned back on the doorway to await events.

*

“Harry, he’s mad and dangerous.”

“You can’t let him hurt you again, mate. Frankly, I’m surprised that you let him get away with it this long.”

“I still think that you should take him to St. Mungo’s.” Hermione’s face was pinched and earnest. “But if you really don’t want to, then at least take his wand away, so that he can’t hurt anyone else when you start testing him.”

Ron had said nothing in response to that, but nodded so hard that a moment later he cursed softly and rubbed the back of his neck.

And so Harry had reluctantly yielded to their suggestions, and promised that he would ask for Draco’s wand the moment he came back in. He’d told them some more details about the Seekers of Justice and what had happened in Draco’s house as they waited.

But not everything. Not nearly everything. Nothing about how Draco had tortured the Muggleborns and killed so many of them, and nothing about how he and Draco had nearly raped each other.

There were some things that he simply couldn’t tell his friends right now and hope to have them understand. Harry was sorry for that, but he tried to pin the blame where it belonged—on the people who had cast the curse in the first place—and simply asked for Draco’s wand when he came in. Ron and Hermione were still urging him to do more than that, but they settled for shutting up and pointing their wands at Draco instead.

“Why don’t you tell me a bit more about what’s going on first?” Draco’s voice was deceptively mild, his eyes calm and bright. He held the hawthorn wand in a loose, relaxed grip, as if he wasn’t sure about what he should do with it, but Harry could see the way his fingers tightened when Ron stepped closer.

“We have to restrain you,” Ron said. “I know that you did something to Harry, no matter how much he just says that you had a _discussion_.”

“I see,” Draco said, and his eyes came back to Harry’s, “Have you agreed to this?”

“As long as you can stay rational, then you don’t have to be restrained,” Harry said. “But I do need your wand, and I do have to restrain you if you start losing your senses. Tie you up, maybe.” He hadn’t done that because he had thought it would hurt Draco and because he had believed the wards were sufficient. He tried to keep his voice firm now, so that Draco would know that he was actually considering it.

“Hmm,” Draco said. “More promising than I expected from you, Harry.” He tossed his wand underhanded, and Harry had to scramble to catch it, he was so shocked. Ron looked not much less shocked, but Hermione had a suddenly thoughtful expression.

“In what way?” Harry had to ask. “Because you didn’t think that I’d protect myself?”

Draco laughed in his throat, and once again his happiness brightened his eyes like a running wildfire. “No. Because it might mean that you’re open to certain things, later, once the curse is removed.”

Harry caught his breath, and then told himself not to be stupid. He still knew that Draco’s mind would change after the curse. He might not _hate_ Harry—he’d certainly stayed away from him well after the war for someone who hated him—but he wouldn’t want to have sex.

_Get your mind off your groin,_ Harry scolded himself a moment later. _He’s under a curse that makes him lust after you. What’s your excuse?_

Then again, listening to the buzz of Draco’s laugh in his throat and seeing the gleam of his hair as he turned his head, Harry wasn’t sure that he _needed_ an excuse.

“Come down to the lab,” he said, a bit harshly, and led the way, making sure to cast a few charms on Draco’s wand that ought to prevent it from flying out of his hand even if Draco Summoned it.

*

Draco used the trip to the lab to watch Harry’s arse and dream. There was no law against dreaming, no matter how much Harry liked to pretend there was.


	17. Prime Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“You need to stay in the warded circle this time, Draco.”

Draco drifted towards the circle that Harry had repaired yesterday with a faint, insolent smile on his face. He had his head half-bowed and his eyes darting around the room as though he was cataloging the position of the books, notes, and experimental objects that Harry had gathered. Harry had to admit that made him nervous. He swallowed and did his best to ignore it. This was the real Draco, he reminded himself again and again, whenever he started to falter. This was the Draco who would be left when he managed to remove the curse. If he was that uncomfortable with him, that was only another sign that they would do well to part ways when the curse was gone.

Draco stepped inside the circle. There was a sound like a faint puff of breath, and the wards snapped to life around him.

Harry heard uneasy stirring from the stairs, where Ron and Hermione stood. He turned and gave them a hard stare. “If you can’t stay still,” he said, “then I’m exiling you from the lab. I need absolute _quiet_ for what I’m doing here.”

Hermione nodded, looking impressed. Of course, research into esoteric magic would always do that to her. But Ron shook his head, his face pale enough to make his freckles look like wounds. “What happens if he gets out and you need help like you did last time, mate? I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“As I recall, Weasley,” Draco drawled, “the reason I broke free had to do with you not being able to keep your _hands_ off Harry.” On the word “hands,” his voice cut down like a diving hawk into darkness, and then he pulled back and stood there blandly smiling once more. Harry gave him an uneasy glance that he couldn’t stop. Draco caught his eye, and the smile increased to charming.

“As long as no one touches you but me,” he said, “I see no reason that they can’t be here.”

“You can’t tell me that Harry _likes_ being touched and groped by you,” Ron began, rising to the bait. Draco smiled at him contentedly.

“What did I tell you about keeping quiet?” Harry snapped at Ron, and Ron lowered his eyes and swallowed. Harry reckoned that either the expression on his face or the pinch Hermione had given Ron on his arm had been taken as deeply threatening. Well, good. Whatever worked. Harry was _not_ going to have this fucked up because of the Weasley-Malfoy rivalry. It was going to be hard enough as it was.

He spent a few moments meditating, filling his mind with a great calmness and the confidence that had hit him when he realized that his spell to banish magical infatuation had worked on Draco. He had used multiple variations of the revealing charm to show up Dark spells before now. He had even done it under more of a time limit, as when he worked to save Ron’s life. He could do this.

He opened his eyes, smiled, and moved his wand in the second-heaviest revealing charm for Dark magic he knew. “ _Miror_.”

The spell rolled towards Draco and hesitated, barely, at the wards. Then it rippled around him and revealed the parts of the spell that Harry knew about: the jagged pieces on his shoulders, the crown of tendrils on his head, the snake coiling above it all. Harry saw Draco clench his jaw, as if he disliked the way that the cold spell felt moving over his skin, but he bowed his head and stood there, patient. Harry shot him a quick smile and then began comparing the way the curse looked now with his former drawings.

His heart leaped. Yes, the snake was smaller than it had been, missing the “head”—or the end that he had chosen to call the head last time—as if someone had cut it off. He was sure now that the snake was the magical infatuation the curse had inflicted on Draco. It had been damaged when his spell had hit it, and still hadn’t grown back.

Harry drew in the edges of the curse, glancing at Draco from time to time and moving to a new angle when he could, to make sure that he got a picture of the way the curse looked all around Draco’s body. An unexpected bend in the snake where it crossed his spine could destroy his plans, considering what those plans were.

The revealing spell crackled and faded. There was something in the curse that made it resistant to revealing charms, Harry knew. He cast the strongest one this time, and Draco braced himself when it hit him, shaking briefly like a dog immersed in water.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked quietly. He knew that he shouldn’t let himself be distracted, but he was incapable of forgetting about Draco’s comfort, when Draco was the one who would have to suffer from what Harry was doing.

*

Draco gave Harry a tight smile and an equally tight nod. He wasn’t sure what else he could say. The revealing charms didn’t hurt, although it did feel as though giant, invisible hands had tugged him out of his clothes.

_Has the curse become so interwoven with me, that having it revealed feels like nakedness?_

He sincerely hoped not. The curse needed to remain separate, or they were never going to be happy to take it off. Harry acted calm and confident all the time, but Draco was a realist, and he knew what it meant for a curse to sink into one’s skin and soul and bind itself there, to the point where it couldn’t be removed.

Worse, flashes of emotion had begun to pass through him, as though the curse were reminding itself of what it could do by producing brief spasms of jealousy and lust. At one point, he thought the room would tilt sideways and he would faint if he didn’t touch Harry right this instant. At another, he had to clench his fingers into his palms because Granger and Weasley stood too close, too close!

The emotions passed in instants, and his rational mind reeled after that, fascinated and appalled. Was that what he seemed like to someone outside himself? Would his face twitch and go through convulsions when he felt the lust and the jealousy?

Perhaps there was a reason that Weasley and Granger watched him with revolted distrust. Harry might be able to look past that, but Draco doubted that they could.

And if he was honest, if he had had a friend who was trying to help someone under the _Nova Cupiditas_ curse, he would have advised that friend to abandon the other person at the first near-rape, never mind all the other attacks Harry had endured from him and the times that he had made life difficult for Harry by attacking the people around him.

Another flash of jealousy passed through his mind, and Draco closed his eyes hard and waited until it was gone before he continued the thoughts. Harry was chanting something else, whether a revealing charm or part of the spell he was trying to invent to counteract the curse Draco didn’t know, but he _did_ know that his thoughts from before were ridiculous.

He wasn’t anyone else, and Harry was who he was. As long as Harry was willing to be a ridiculous hero and a martyr by trying to discover a cure, then Draco would do everything he could to urge him along. He wanted to be free of this curse. That meant not caring as much about how dangerous it was for Harry personally. Draco wasn’t generous or saintly enough to step back and say that he should die in pain, eating himself, because that would keep Harry or his precious friends safe.

_But if I could touch him once…_

Draco recognized a new intrusion of lust, but it was more powerful than before and forced him to open his eyes, unwillingly, so that he could stare at Harry again. Harry stared at him with unseeing eyes, frowning at the curse’s pieces—or so Draco assumed, since he could see nothing—on Draco’s shoulders and head. He didn’t see _Draco_ at the moment, which made Draco wish for more attention, but also gave him the opportunity to look his fill without Harry blushing self-consciously and ducking his head. He had a bad habit of doing that.

Harry would never be the best-looking bloke, the sort of wizard Draco had dreamed about. No bulging muscles, no lithe glory like the kind that Quidditch players exhibited—it was years since Harry had been a Quidditch player—and his skin had plenty of minor blemishes and scars even without _the_ scar. His nails were ragged and bitten. His hair, of course, escaped any restraint precisely the way it always had. Draco tried to envision it lying flat, and couldn’t. He tried to envision it looking wilder than it did.

And _that_ was no problem. It would look wilder than it did right now if he shagged Harry, if Harry stopped complaining for once and let Draco fuck him hard enough to make them both come.

Draco widened his stance subtly so that he could accommodate his growing erection. He couldn’t stop staring, and he didn’t think it was his fault. Harry shouldn’t gnaw his lip like that if he didn’t want people to stare. He shouldn’t frown and let his eyes flicker back and forth between Draco’s shoulders and the notebook with subtle intelligence. Draco had thought Harry was stupid in many ways—because he was self-sacrificing, because he was a Gryffindor and actually believed most of the world was noble and true, because he had flung himself into the middle of so many dangerous situations—but he was far smarter than most people gave him credit for. His chosen career showed that. Better to be a magical researcher and have the honor and glory of creating new spells and finding variations of spells than be an Auror. Anyone could be an Auror. No one else could do what Harry was doing.

_I want him._

Draco half-shuddered. The lust had returned, but instead of blowing through him and vanishing, it was hovering under his skin, tainting everything he saw with a faint rose-red aura. But perhaps Harry’s spell that banished the magical love had been better than he knew. Draco could feel the lust, but he retained his rational mind around and under that, so at the same moment he could also clearly remember the period of his life when the idea of touching Harry would have been anathema.

Not now. Draco felt half-ashamed of his stupid earlier self, who had never seen the worth of what Harry was and could offer him.

He still knew that Harry wasn’t pure-blood. He still knew that he wasn’t the sort of partner Draco’s parents had hoped for, the sort of partner who would make the Malfoy name blaze like a newly-risen star. But that didn’t matter. He wanted to hold him down and fuck the life out of him. He wanted to make Harry forget any other lover he’d ever had.

It was a less desperate lust than before. More real? Draco didn’t despise the thought of going to bed with Harry, even though he was perfectly well-aware that he would never have considered it if not for the curse.

Harry looked up and caught Draco’s eye. For a moment he blinked, uncertain, and Draco felt an odd, old thrill. It was the same thrill he had felt at Hogwarts, when Potter would turn and look at him during a Quidditch game or a random fight in the corridors or a time when he was taunting the Weasel and the Mudblood. To have a person that normally oblivious of him paying attention was worth everything.

And it didn’t come—or it didn’t all come—from Potter being famous. It came from the way his eyes sparked and the way he held himself and the fact that he rarely paid attention to _anyone_ except his friends and sometimes the professors. Draco was part of an exclusive, restricted little world in those moments that he rarely gained entrance to.

Draco was certain, in that moment, that he would still want Harry when the curse was gone. He tried to relax his guard, to show that, and to let the emotion beam through his smile and his eyes.

*

Draco was giving him an odd look. Harry didn’t know what to make of it, and so simply nodded cautiously back and then turned away so that he could check on his notes again.

Something wasn’t matching up.

He didn’t know why, but the curse looked to have a fourth component. He couldn’t see it when he looked at Draco, but the drawings he was making today didn’t match exactly with the old ones. The old ones showed empty space behind Draco’s shoulders, and when Harry squinted, he couldn’t see empty space there.

It was hard to say exactly what he _did_ see, though. Not a glitter. Not a shimmer. Not part of the three components that had somehow got left out of the “official” drawings. Just a—shadow. That might be the best word. No matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t see anything but nothing, and yet he couldn’t see through the air that should have been empty to the walls and wards behind Draco.

It was hard to describe. But then, magic always had been. Harry sometimes thought that was the reason more people hadn’t entered the field of finding spells’ magical signatures before now. It was so hard to write books about. Harry had more success just describing the incantations and wand motions for his new spells instead of trying to tell people how they had worked and where they had come from.

Hermione took a loud breath from the stairs once, and Harry hunched his shoulders. _Let her not interrupt, please._ He didn’t want the unpleasant scene that would result if he had to scold her, but much less did he want his concentration broken because Hermione couldn’t keep her opinions about his procedures to herself.

Luckily, she did, and Harry jotted down a few more notes and then stepped back, shaking his head. Well, strange shadow or not, he couldn’t make it come into focus no matter how long he stared, and the fourth component of the spell—if it existed—didn’t seem to affect Draco’s behavior. Harry would get started with the three that he knew about.

He laid the drawings side by side, correcting his exaggerations where he saw them, and began to consider. He had to make the coils of the snake smaller and the puzzle pieces larger, and he had to count the tendrils on the crown that sat on Draco’s head. But he began to see his way through the mess, and took a deep breath of relief.

As he had told Draco, his strategy was based on understanding the exact shape of the spell’s magical signature—something no one had ever figured it out before because it was _fucking complicated,_ from what Harry had seen. He couldn’t blame those ancient researchers when you had to count twice over to make sure that you were really finding all the tendrils and not just mistaking the sharp curve that one took for the beginning of a new one.

Once he knew the shape, then he would design a neutralizing shape, or, more probably considering the complexity of the curse, several shapes. He would fasten them into the gaps between the shapes on Draco’s body, sinking them under the surface of the skin when necessary, and wrench them open—casting another spell that would change their shapes—so that the impenetrable wall of the curse would shatter.

If he could. It was a good theory, but Harry had never done something like this before, and he honestly wasn’t sure if it was going to work. It had only come to him in the first place because the shapes showed with so many gaps between them.

He focused on the jagged puzzle pieces of the jealousy first, because he thought those would be easiest to match. They had so many little gaps along them that he would have to be careful with his counting, but they weren’t wrapped around the other shapes in the way that the snake and the tendrils were caught in each other.

He raised his wand, carefully searching through the spells he knew for the one that would be likeliest to work. Then he nodded slightly. If his first try didn’t work, then he would have to try something else. He would remind himself, again and again if he had to, that a first failure didn’t mean he had to condemn himself forever.

He would have to avoid hurting Draco in the process, though.

Harry winced. The reminder was like claws scraping along his heart.

He faced the warded circle once more and nodded to Draco. “I’m going to cast the first spell now, Draco,” he said. “Do you need anything before I do?”

“Why would I?” For a moment, the strange light that had flared in Draco’s eyes lately, and that disturbed Harry, faded, replaced by what looked like honest confusion. “Of course not. Do your worst, Harry.”

Harry half-smiled, nervously, and shook his head. “I just wondered if you wanted water. Or reassurances. Or food.”

“I want my freedom.” Draco’s gaze was unmoving.

Harry took a relieved breath.

“And you,” Draco added.

Harry’s breath left him in a disappointed sigh, and he nodded. He had to spend a few moments in meditation before he was back in the calm frame of mind that he needed to cast a spell like the one he was attempting.

“ _Creo enormitates_ ,” he breathed.

The spell rose above his head, billowing in circles like smoke, shaped by the wand movement and the words, as most magic was, but also by the will embedded in his thoughts. Harry narrowed his eyes and kept them fixed on the cloud, while his mind repeated, over and over again, the shapes that he had thought would work best to sink into and then drive apart the puzzle pieces of the jealousy.

It wasn’t easy to envision the puzzle pieces in reverse, and he sighed with relief when they appeared, two glittering blue things that had gaps where the puzzle pieces on Draco’s shoulders bulged, projections where the puzzle pieces of the curse sank, straight notched arms where those puzzle pieces had straight arms with opposing notches. He cast another spell, nonverbally this time, and moved them forwards, through the warded circle and into the middle of the air above Draco’s head.

“What _are_ those, Potter?” Draco asked. He hadn’t backed up a step, but his muscles were tensed as if he would have liked to.

_Potter. That’s a good sign. If he’s calling me by my last name, that must mean that he doesn’t want to be intimate with me anymore._ Harry held firmly on to the joy that he told himself should make him glad against the trembling of his heart in his chest. “The things that will break the jealousy,” he said. “Stand still so they can work.”

“Pushy, pushy,” Draco muttered, which was another good sign, but he stood still and closed his eyes. The puzzle pieces Harry had created drifted down and settled into place. Harry stood on tiptoes, straining to see, and muttered an instruction for Draco to turn around that he was barely aware of giving.

“You can see my arse any time you ask, Harry,” Draco said, with a bright smile, and turned. Harry had to ignore the tone, the words, and the hopes that both of them stirred in him, all at once. He pinched one arm until the temptation to respond was past, and then studied the way his created shapes, sketched in faint blue lines on the air, matched the dark, heavy solidity of the curse’s shapes.

They matched. Hole by hole, peg by peg, line by line, they matched. Harry took a step back and bowed his head in profound relief.

“Harry.”

Draco’s voice was quick. Harry looked up, wondering if something had gone wrong, if Draco could feel harmful side-effects from the magic when he shouldn’t have been able to feel anything at all. But Draco was standing there with wide eyes trained on him.

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice so soft that Harry knew what he said more from the movements of his lips than his words.

Harry nodded. “I think so. We’ll find out.” He held up his wand. “ _Confringo!_ ”

*

A shudder, deep as the soul or the bones, ran through Draco. He staggered and reached out automatically to catch hold of the nearest thing.

There was no “nearest thing,” only the wards. They pricked and spat at his fingers, and Draco staggered back the other way, trying to understand the ringing in his head and ears and heart.

“Draco?” Harry called, but his voice was distant. Draco put his hands up to his ears as if that would stop the ringing, but it made it worse. He dropped them again and turned his head, trying to see what the blue shapes Harry had conjured were doing on his shoulders.

Battle with something invisible, it seemed to him. They surged back and forth, flowing like liquid steel, twisting around the invisible force that opposed them. Draco squinted, but the shapes of the curse were still as invisible to him as when he’d begun.

Harry said something else. Draco didn’t know whether it was a command, a new spell, or something else, but he couldn’t hear anyway, so he would have to do what came naturally to him.

The problem was, what he _really_ wanted to do was touch those damn blue shapes. He had to clench his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out and yanking them away. He did that, taking a few deep, harsh breaths and closing his eyes.

The ringing grew worse. Now it felt as though he had an extra beat to his heart and extra bones in his legs. Draco locked his teeth together and shook his head. He could survive this, he thought, since there was no pain yet, but he wished that Harry’s spell had had a different result. They would probably have to start again—

_Then_ the pain came.

Draco screamed. It felt now as though his brain was sloshing inside his skull, and someone was opening up the top of his head and pouring in still more. He clawed out at the blue shapes, and whether he affected them or not he didn’t know. He just knew that the pain was driving him to his knees, and he didn’t care how much he damaged Harry’s efforts to save him right now, he just wanted it to _stop._

*

Harry stared in horror, watching as dark waves rose above Draco’s shoulders, lashing down on top of him and sinking him deep enough that it looked for a moment as though his feet were being driven into the floor. They weren’t, but the magic was rising around him and made it seem so. Harry had never seen so much magic unleashed all at once.

He shouted another revealing charm. Nothing happened. Harry rushed to the side of the room where he had kept some powdered basilisk scale in a jar and pulled it out. Basilisks were his symbol of something powerful and evil he had barely defeated, and he had used it before to assist him in figuring out the signatures of Dark spells.

He threw it towards Draco now and shouted the revealing charm a second time.

The dust leaped over the wards and settled on Draco, thickly mantling his hair and shoulders. He was screaming, but without sound, as though the leaping flames of magic around him swallowed everything.

Harry could see clearly now. The shadow or shimmer he had seen before was the _connections_ between the different components of the spell.

The snake representing the false love didn’t merely lie coiled on top of the other puzzle pieces. It was linked to them. The tendrils wrapping around Draco’s head also wrapped around the bottom of the puzzle pieces. The puzzle pieces supported the snake.

Harry swore shakily. He couldn’t take apart the spell piece by piece. He had to take it all at once or not at all. The extra magic was pouring from the broken connections between the components, shattered when Harry had tried to break apart the puzzle pieces.

He would have to do something. Harry raised his wand, consumed by the desperate idea that had just come to him and ridden by fear for Draco, and began to cast.


	18. Eighteen Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

The pain had grown so bad that Draco found it hard to remember how he had come to be lying on the floor. He was more than _happy_ to be lying on the floor, though. He suspected he would have a much harder time of it if he tried to stand up. He shut his eyes and groaned instead.

His head ached with a throbbing, burning pain that made stars of white and yellow light flicker and flash behind his eyelids. His hands were burning _off_. He had extra bones everywhere, and they cut into his lungs and his ribs and his chest and his intestines. He could feel every muscle of his body separately, and they were all shredding slowly and delicately, as though under the touch of a master torturer.

He hurt. And Harry, who was supposed to save him, hadn’t appeared to make it stop.

Draco couldn’t even feel bitter about that, though, because his emotions towards Harry altered so much and so suddenly from moment to moment that they sometimes distracted him from the pain. There was hatred and contempt as he thought about the way Harry had promised to be a hero and obviously couldn’t fulfill that role. There was lust as he thought about the warmth that would surround him when he pushed into Harry’s body, more than enough to make up for the agony he suffered now. There was jealousy, which brought with it a furious despair, because he had to burst through the incoherence that cocooned him and make sure that no one had taken Harry away, but he was incapable of doing it.

And there was the love.

Harry had been wrong to think that he could wave his wand and make an end of it. It was everywhere, and it filled Draco’s world with a clear and shining light, and the pain that touched him was mingled with that light, so that he knew he would never be able to remember one without the other.

Assuming that there was anything left of him to remember, after this.

_I love you. I’ll go to my death loving you, Harry._ Draco fixed his mind firmly on that, because yes, going to his death mattered to _him_ even if no one else in the whole world thought it did, and waited for death or the end of the pain.

They might be the same thing, now that he thought about it.

*

Harry lost track of the charms and the curses that he yelled, trying to put his plan into action. Nothing seemed to work. Most of the spells he cast simply vanished into that sea of magic that surrounded Draco and so very effectively muted _his_ effectiveness. Draco writhed on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth where he had bitten his tongue, his screams so high and thin and voiceless and frantic that they no longer sounded human. Harry wanted to tear at his own skin with his fingernails, wanted to fall on the floor and weep, but he knew that wouldn’t be productive.

No, he had promised Draco that he would save him from _Nova Cupiditas,_ and Harry still planned on doing that. It was just going to take him a bit longer than he had thought, that was all.

He fell back on one heel, took a deep breath, and turned around to fetch another of his notebooks down from the shelves. Horrible as it was, he would just have to ignore the shrieks issuing from Draco’s throat for the moment.

He met Hermione, with tears streaming down her cheeks and her wand pointed at the warded circle. Harry barked out a wordless warning, which did its job, because Hermione’s hand jerked and her wand fell to the floor.

“Mate,” Ron said. He both looked and sounded breathless, his eyes starting practically out of his head. “You _have_ to see that this can’t go on. He has to die, and it would be better to give him a clean death than—”

“I wasn’t trying to do that!” Hermione snapped, spinning on Ron.

Harry shook his head. Sometimes he thought his best friends would bicker if the world ended because they would disagree about _how_ it was ending.

He snatched the notebook and opened it to the very back pages, to the project that he had been starting when Draco had come along and taken precedence. The words stabbed and sparkled up at him. Harry blinked, and then realized that they were doing that because of the tears in his eyes as he listened to Draco scream. He dashed them away and bent down closer to the page, reading what he had written so long ago.

Yes. And yes again.

_I don’t think it’s possible to shatter some of the large, ancient curses, the ones that were designed to endure or be the last spell that was ever cast on a victim. But it might be possible to break them and leave something behind that wouldn’t threaten the victim._

Harry spun away from the notebook a moment later, after he had used that moment to memorize some of the drawings he had put there. He strode back to the warded circle and lifted his wand.

He made his mind, as much as he could, into a hard, sparkling crystal where the only thing that mattered was getting the spells right. Too much sympathy would cripple him right now. He had to do his best whether or not he succeeded, whether or not he ended up with Draco loving him or not.

“ _Dimidatus!_ ” he cried.

*

There was a change in the pain. Draco suddenly hurt less than he had before. He blinked, and came back to some sense of his body as an object rather than an infinite microcosm of different kinds of suffering.

Not that it worked completely. The pain was still there, slithering around his spine and finding new and interesting ways to probe into his brain, and Draco doubted that he would ever go to bed again without shivering in terror of his nightmares about it. But the option to do something other than lie there and scream was nice.

He turned his head and saw Harry standing on the edge of the circle, his wand darting back and forth. Silvery filaments surrounded him, stalked by dark waves. As Draco watched, more magic flooded away from him and out of the circle, going over the wards, blending into the sea around Harry.

_What does he think he’s doing?_ Draco’s thoughts were slow and confused as they came together, but there was nothing wrong with his brain that a good rest wouldn’t fix. _He can’t possibly be doing what I think he’s doing—_

But it seemed that Draco was wrong, because more and more power went to Harry, stalking around him like a ring of leopards he had somehow taught to dance. Harry’s face was set in an expression of fierce concentration, and Draco suffered another spark of abstract lust. To see Harry look at him like that when Draco was pounding steadily into his body—

But there was something else going on now. Harry began to turn in a circle, never taking his eyes from the magic (except when he completed the turn and would always snatch a quick glance at Draco). The silver and the dark ribbons followed him, rippling along the floor, rising to wrap around Harry’s legs and shoulders.

Fear pinched Draco’s heart. _If he’s trying to take the curse away from me and into himself, I’ll kill him._

But the pain remained, and sometimes, with the craziness of his anguish, Draco thought he could even glimpse a curve of the shapes on his shoulders and head out of the corner of his eye. No, whatever Harry was doing, it wasn’t that.

Harry froze in place and snapped his wand down.

The silver and the black streamers, or some of them, dived into the floor and didn’t rise again. The rest kept stalking Harry, curling around his ears now and eddying in front of his eyes as if they sought some way inside his head.

Harry visibly gritted his teeth and turned to face Draco again. This time, Draco could hear what he said, and clung to his voice the way that he would to a rope that someone tossed him from a boat. “ _Dimidiatus!_ ”

*

It had worked. When he cast the spell that would pull the magic out of the circle where he could and over to him, Harry had cast another spell at the same time, one that would cause him an echo of the pain that Draco was suffering.

It hurt. It hurt so much that his sight blurred and his head pounded and he wondered if this had been a good idea after all.

But he had proved his point. He had, after all, proved that his technique would work. When he cast the Cleaving Curse again, half the spell was gone, and what remained of the pain was bearable.

The Cleaving Curse was usually used on people who were powerful in battle, reducing their magic by half so that their enemies could destroy them. It was meant to be temporary. Harry would have to work out a permanent variation in the next five minutes, at the most. He estimated he had that long before Draco’s body and brain would simply begin to shut down under the intense pressure of the pain.

He could be wrong. He might have more than that time. He might have less. But he wasn’t going to force himself to think about it, because it would be more devastating, in the end, to lose Draco because he had rushed through what he was doing and fucked things up than because he had made an honest mistake.

He turned his wand over and focused on Draco again. He had done one good thing, at least. When he borrowed the magic of the curse from the warded circle to make his experiment, he had halved Draco’s pain, and he had also halved the wards. It would be easier to reach Draco now as well as easier to work with him.

He hoped.

Ron and Hermione’s voices briefly surged into his consciousness. They were rowing about something, as usual. Harry ignored them and moved closer to Draco, crouching down so that he could see him face-to-face.

Draco’s eyes were focusing. Harry cast the Cleaving Curse yet again, and his gaze sharpened still more. But Harry knew that he couldn’t just keep doing that. The single biggest step had been taking away half of Draco’s pain at the beginning. He could halve what was left, but it would continue to be a smaller and smaller amount, until he was making virtually no difference at all.

So he had to come up with a variation of the Cleaving Curse that would take away half of _everything_ , and all the pain. It would leave part of the curse clinging to Draco, but Harry thought Draco could bear that. He would be more in control of his actions than he had been so far, and it was possible that Harry could try again in the future for a more permanent solution.

Two minutes.

Harry bowed his head, closed his eyes, and reached out with all his will. He knew the Latin words better than he had ever known them in school. He knew what the incantation for a permanent Cleaving Curse _ought_ to be, and he would throw his will towards it and make the wand movements that instinct demanded, and hope that was enough.

_No, not a wild guess. It’s my best chance._

Fixing his confidence in front of his mental eyes like the pole star, Harry threw up his wand, swept it back and forth over Draco’s body, and shouted again, “ _Dimidatus! Dimidatus semper!_ ”

*

The magic blazed in Draco, and it was like standing in the center of a star: glory and pain both shone through him to the point that it made his limbs tingle and his mouth dry out, and he couldn’t remember anything, for the barest instant, except what was around him.

Then they were gone and he was staggering and stumbling along some kind of road of clear light, expecting to land or brush against something at any moment, and doing neither.

Harry’s voice soared around him, chanting the same spell again and again. Draco was counting the times it spoke before he knew what he was doing. It was the only reality in the world besides the light and the pain.

“ _Dimidatus semper! Dimidatus semper! Dimi—”_

For a moment, Draco lost track, but he was certain that Harry hadn’t stopped speaking. No, he would be faithful to his charge. Instead, Draco’s ears were simply filled so much with the ringing and the roar of magic that he couldn’t hear. He put his head down and bulled forwards through the curtains that wanted to swing closed around him, swearing under his breath.

“ _Dimidatus semper! Dimidatus semper!_ ”

By Draco’s count, that was the sixteenth and the seventeenth cry. And he did feel different, in other ways than the burning of his eyes from the radiance that surrounded him and the strange feeling that the pain was pulling back, like a tsunami, leaving him alone but about to crash over him soon. He stood on a high mountain cliff, or so his mind told him, the air thin and burning in his lungs.

“ _Dimidatus semper!_ ”

The eighteenth time.

The wave broke.

Draco screamed, or tried, but there was no air left in his lungs. It was all burning around him, burning, burning, and he didn’t know how to make it stop and it was brilliant at the same time that it was agonizing and he wanted to suffer from it until the second that it killed him, which couldn’t be far away.

The light flared up around him and separated into silver candleflames. Harry was nearby; Draco could feel him, from something that he would have called the pressure of the soul if someone had demanded a name for it. He was there, resting a hand on Draco’s shoulder, or dancing with the flames, or inside his mind. His voice no longer sounded, but it didn’t matter. They were so deeply connected that Draco thought he could have sensed him from the other side of the world.

Up and down the flames spun, and then flattened towards Draco, laid out like paving stones. The pain flew out from him, and Draco had the odd impression of watching himself explode as chunks of spell were ripped from his head and his chest and his heart. Red-black in color, terrifying like blood and flesh, they coiled and turned and split and fell apart, and the flames sprang back up again and burned their refuse.

Draco shouted. The echoes of his voice turned into silver, clanging rods that fell down around him, singing sweetly when they touched the ground the flames had hardened.

They hit the thing that sat on his head like a crown, squeezing his temples—something of which Draco was only aware then—and cracked it. Draco reeled, his hands clutching, and this time someone _did_ reach out and clasp them, holding him upright, while Harry’s voice said, “It’s almost done, Draco. Almost.”

His shoulders trembled, and the pain that scraped through them was like someone tearing out the marrow and then replacing it. Draco sank with a cry, but his knees touched nothing but a silvery mist that continued.

And Harry’s voice said, “That’s it. That’s as good as I can do.” There was an exhaustion deeper than Draco’s pain in it. Draco reached out instinctively to comfort him, and then paused.

The overriding compulsion to do that was gone.

*

Harry scrambled up and stood on wavering legs. His eyes watered, and he blinked them, making the star-like images that had been suspended in front of them shatter. He stared at Draco, casting another revealing charm at the same time that would let him see whether any pieces of the curse were left on him.

_Of course I had to cast the spell eighteen times,_ he thought, with the only part of his brain that didn’t feel fatigued to death. _There were eighteen tendrils on the crown that represented the lust, and I think that was the most deeply-rooted part of the spell. It showed up first…_

Then his thoughts stuttered to a halt, and he was examining the revealing spell thoughtfully. If he was right, it should show a certain, very specific result. If he wasn’t right, he didn’t like to think about what would happen.

But no, the result was what he had thought it would be. A faint, dark shadow lingered over Draco’s head. Slightly stronger silhouettes of the puzzle pieces glowed on his shoulders.

The false love, the transparent snake, was entirely gone.

Harry closed his eyes and slumped back, exhaling in relief. But there was nothing to lean against, so he sat down rather hard on the floor. He rubbed his arse and winced. Then he told himself that it was nothing compared to what Draco had suffered in the past hour, and took his hand roughly away.

“Harry? What did you do?”

It was Hermione who asked it, and not Draco. Harry was glad for that. He hadn’t been able to rid Draco completely of the curse, but he had reduced it so that he thought Draco could control the residue of what was left. It was still easier to explain that to someone else than to the person who had suffered so greatly because of his mistake, though.

“I halved the spell,” he said, and swallowed. His throat was raw. He hadn’t noticed that before. Had he really cast the spell _that_ many times? “There are still traces of lust and jealousy left in Draco’s head. I couldn’t get rid of them completely, because the spell was designed to spill its magic and kill the victim with pain if someone tried.” Harry shivered. He couldn’t imagine what the person who had created the _Nova Cupiditas_ curse must have been like. What had been his _purpose?_

“What does that mean?” Hermione insisted.

Harry sat up, then stood up, hanging onto the nearest table. He was outside the warded circle, he noted with half his brain. That was interesting. He must have crossed over the line of the wards when he left Draco after the last time.

He looked at Draco before he answered.

Draco sat there, staring at him, hair hanging in his face as if he had been half-drowned. Given how much pain he’d suffered, and the sea-like nature of the spilled magic, Harry thought that was a good comparison. And there was a look in his eyes that made Harry wince and bow his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a voice that he hoped would be inaudible to Ron and Hermione, to anyone else except Draco. “I did the best I could. I know it’s not enough, but I hope that it will be in time.”

“Tell me what you did.”

Draco’s voice was absolutely flat. Harry wistfully contrasted it in his mind with the way that Draco had sounded when talking about him just a short while ago, and then shook his head. No, he had known this would happen. The only thing he could do was keep going and face the consequences.

“Halved the curse,” he said. “I got rid of the false love completely. You shouldn’t be feeling that anymore. It was the weakest component. But some of the lust and jealousy will remain. They’re controllable, though. You’re going to feel like sleeping with me or hexing someone who touches me at times, but you can ignore it.”

Draco just continued to stare at him. Harry wrapped his arms around his own chest in comfort, because he felt dreadfully cold.

*

What Harry said made no sense.

He could feel—Draco could feel emotions twitching in the back of his head like snakes suddenly deprived of their heads. Lust and jealousy came and went, pale echoes of what had gone before.

But he hadn’t expected this. He had thought that he might go on desiring Harry for the rest of his life, if Harry couldn’t do anything about the curse, or he had thought it possible that he would get over it completely. But to be caught halfway between one state and another wasn’t what he had anticipated.

It would take some getting used to.

Draco reached out one hand. He thought he was the only one who would have noticed that Harry hesitated before taking it, but then Harry pulled firmly and he was on his feet, and he was feeling, at one and the same time, the uncomfortably warm scorch of Harry’s skin against his and the strange feeling of lightness that haunted his head and shoulders, as if he had been freed of burdens that he didn’t know were there.

He stretched out his arms, and they seemed to travel past barriers that had been there before. He swallowed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Harry said, watching him with wistful eyes. He became aware that he was still holding Draco’s hand and stepped back, dropping it. Draco clenched his fingers against his palms and nodded shortly.

Harry closed his eyes and seemed to fall into himself for a moment, reaching for strength the way Draco knew he had when they confronted each other on the bed in his private house. That had been just hours ago, and yet his skin ached with the memory, as if they had been lovers years before.

“Now,” Harry said, opening his eyes, by all appearances restored to his former self, “we need to decide what we’re going to do about the people who captured and tortured you, and the ones we still haven’t caught. That needs to come first, for various reasons.” He caught Draco’s eyes emphatically, and Draco knew that he was thinking about the way Draco had murdered eight people.

_Murdered_ them.

Draco licked his lips. There were two sets of memories in his head. One of them was horrible as he watched blood spraying across the air and spells he had never thought would emerge from his wand flying to cause more of it. The other was thick with satisfaction at the thought that he had protected Harry.

Harry, whom he had to go back to calling Potter. Harry, whom he had to resign his claim to.

“All right,” he said. “Give me a chance to relax and get something to eat.”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Harry said at once, his eyes fluttering shut, as if he found something unbearable in Draco’s face. _Probably doesn’t like to look at me anymore because I’m not in need,_ Draco thought bitterly. “I should have thought before of how long you’ve been on your feet. Of course we can do it later.”

“We shouldn’t wait too long,” Draco said, and tried to ignore both his own urge to stay here because Weasley and Granger might get their hands on Harry otherwise and the way that he despised himself for the idea. “Otherwise, someone might find them, or I might have to go and renew the charms again.”

“…Yeah,” Harry said, and then nodded at Draco and turned back to his friends as if he had ceased to exist.

Draco clenched his fingers again. He understood what Harry was trying to do. Put distance between them, let _Draco_ have the distance, because touching now would be counterproductive in so many ways.

But he was scarred by what he had gone through. Of course he was. And he didn’t think that ignoring the wounds was a good first step in the healing process.

“Farewell, Potter,” he said stiffly, and turned and made his way out of the room.

His being trembled and bounded between two poles: one grateful for his freedom, the second wanting to rush back in and embrace Harry. Draco wondered how long it would take him to get used to that.

*

Harry kept his eyes closed, because letting anyone else see what he felt right now was a stupid idea.


	19. Indivisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry sat down that evening to make a list.

Hermione and Ron were asleep in the guest rooms down the corridor, though not the one that Draco had used. Harry had promised himself that he would pitch a fit if they asked, but they were wise enough not to. Or maybe they hadn’t wanted to sleep in the same place that someone they despised had.

Harry had wanted them to go home, but Hermione had said they weren’t leaving him, and Ron had nodded firmly. Because Harry had a job to do, and didn’t want to waste time arguing, he had nodded and accepted their decision. At least they didn’t try to argue with him over anything else, once Draco had left.

Ron had even gripped his shoulder tightly, once, and fumbled awkwardly for words. Harry had smiled at him sadly, and in the end Ron had nodded and gone to bed, though he kept glancing at Harry as he did so.

Then Harry pulled out ink and parchment, and began to make a list of the things that he needed to do to make sure that Draco wouldn’t get accused of murder, rape, or something even worse, including all of Draco’s crimes.

Draco had murdered eight people in the meadow. He had tortured two. He had attacked Ron with a Dark spell, and he had cursed Lucius. Harry didn’t think Lucius would bring that attack to the attention of the authorities, given that it was revenge for his murder attempt on Harry, but the others would almost inevitably show up. There was simply no way to hide the shedding of that much blood for long.

Harry paused when he’d finished, wondering if he had to include his own near-rapes in that list. Then his hands closed down into fists despite himself, and he shook his head firmly.

No. He wasn’t—there was no way that he would let that happen. He would lie, coldly, to the Minister’s face before he would allow Draco to be arrested for something that wasn’t his fault, but the fault of that bloody curse. And Harry had resisted successfully. If he had actually been raped, he might feel—different. But he didn’t. He had to deal with reality, instead of imaginings of what had happened.

And that included imaginings about Draco, he told himself, when he found his mind wandering in that direction again. How cold Draco had looked when he left. The way he held himself.

It _had_ to be this way. They were separate people again, and this way, Draco would be able to decide for himself what he wanted to happen. Healing, in Harry’s company or out of it. Or simply forgetting about the curse, putting the past behind him, and moving on with his marriage to some pure-blood witch.

Especially considering the method that Harry intended to use to solve this list of problems, it was for the best if Draco kept his distance.

Harry sat back and regarded the list for a moment. Then he smiled.

*

Draco had expected to sleep like the dead that night. But he didn’t. He simply leaned against his pillow, staring into space, and thought again and again of the reception he had met with when he came home. It wasn’t at all what he expected.

He had stepped into the Manor and listened to the door closing behind him, thinking it was like the door of a tomb. Then he told himself not to be stupid and walked forwards. He was alive, with sacrifices paying for that, and he wouldn’t belittle them with his morbid thoughts.

“Mother?” he called. “Father?”

A rustle from the side startled him, and he turned in time to see his mother coming out of the library, a large book balanced on her arms. She paused, staring at Draco with eyes that widened and went on widening until Draco thought she would faint. Then she turned and called sharply for Lucius, not listening to Draco’s stuttering attempt at an explanation.

Draco’s father limped out of the library. He was carrying a huge book, too, and he used his cane as if he needed it more than usual. He paused when he saw Draco, nostrils flaring, and laid the book down on a mahogany table that stood next to the door.

“So,” he said. “You have returned home to die?” Then he seemed to study Draco’s eyes and the outlines of his face. “No, I don’t think so. You would suffer at being apart from Potter too long.”

Draco licked his lips. He could see Harry’s face in a flash as vivid as a bolt of lightning when his father spoke the name “Potter,” and with it came the hunger. But it was so diminished, compared to the way he had felt before, that he could ignore it without trouble. “He cured me, Father. He managed to cut the spell in half, and what is left can’t control my life anymore.”

His mother closed her eyes, and although she didn’t move, Draco was careful to avoid looking at her. He knew the strength of her emotions probably embarrassed her. Lucius leaned forwards, studying the knuckles of his hands and the way he held his arms.

Then he said, “You’re not lying.” The faintness of his voice was comparable to the way that Narcissa had closed her eyes.

“No.” Draco gave him a hesitant smile. Lucius didn’t smile back, but Draco thought it was due to his stunned astonishment rather than because he actually _resented_ the miracle Harry had managed to perform. “I—it’s hard to explain, but Harry’s a magical researcher. He came up with a spell that let him see the shapes on my shoulders, and then one that let him cut the web of the curse around me. And so, the spell is gone.”

Narcissa stepped forwards to embrace him then. His father remained where he was, still looking painfully bewildered. Draco hugged his mother and decided that if it took time for Lucius to accept this, then that was fair. Draco hadn’t begun to recover himself, yet, or deal with the unexpectedly doubled set of memories in his head. He had assumed that he would forget his sensations and emotions under the curse once he was cured.

Instead, it seemed as if he could react both like himself and like the cursed persona he had become, and remember his motivations for acting as he had, even as he judged them harshly.

Narcissa took him into the dining room—the largest dining room—and made him sit down at one end of the grand table, while she clapped her hands and ordered the house-elves to come back with food for him. Draco tried to say that he didn’t need an elaborate meal, but Lucius, who had drifted in behind them, caught Draco’s eye and shook his head sharply. Draco shut up. He understood the silent message. Let his mother do what she needed, to make the situation normal again. He could assert himself when his survival was less new.

And sure enough, when his mother sat down across from him and gazed at him with devouring eyes, Draco knew the advice had been good.

He explained what Harry had done, as far as he understood it, while they waited for the meal. When it came—a steaming potato soup, slices of thinly cut lamb in a sauce that made Draco’s mouth water even though he wasn’t really hungry, a slice of chocolate cake big enough to make his teeth rot looking at it, and a glass of Draco’s favorite white wine—he was too busy eating to talk.

His parents didn’t seem to mind that. His mother sat back in her chair and watched him as if she was getting used to the idea that he would live. His father, who had long since sat down, tapped his fingers against the cane and watched.

When Draco swallowed the last bite of lamb, Narcissa leaned forwards and asked, “What do we owe Potter, for saving you?”

Draco blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would immediately think in terms of debts, but of course she would. He would have himself, if he was completely normal. Pay Potter off, and they would free themselves from the heavy burden of gratitude as well as cut a connection that could prove embarrassing in the future.

“I’m not sure that he would want to be paid,” he said, stalling for time while he played with his fork and drank his wine. Those were methods of stalling, too, but ones that his mother was more likely to see through. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would appreciate that.”

“Doesn’t _seem_?” Narcissa cast him a sharp look. “I had thought you would know him well by now, Draco. What would he take from us?”

Draco sighed. His parents wouldn’t like this answer, but he knew it was the true one. “Only our thanks.”

Lucius shook his head briskly, making the light flash off the head of his cane and even his eyes, as if they were made of silver. Draco had forgotten, or not remembered, or never noticed, how cold they looked. “That is not good enough. He has performed a miracle. That requires more than mere words.”

Draco nodded to his father, but he didn’t share the conviction. He knew what lay behind Lucius’s insistence. _Cut the tie. Don’t leave a way open for him to make a claim on us in the future._

“He solved it without our help,” Narcissa added softly. “Without access to our library or the spells that he might have been able to discover there. That makes the debt all the more pressing and urgent.”

“I agree,” Draco said. “But Harry won’t.”

“Son.”

A single warning from Lucius was all he would get, Draco knew. And he knew what it meant. He had to stop calling Potter “Harry.” He had to stop speaking of him with that regretful tone in his voice, too, or his parents might think he was less grateful for his survival than frustrated over the fact that he could never touch Harry again. Draco looked back at his plate and pushed around the last scrapes of sauce, at least until a bowing house-elf appeared to take it away.

He would have to get used to that, again, he thought as he handed the plate over. Constant service. He had lived that way most of his life, but after the days under the curse, it felt distant.

More than anything else, he wished he could have time to _think._ To get his head in order, to understand his own emotions. But he knew, from the imperious way that his father gestured when he rose in addition to everything else, that he wouldn’t get that.

“Come and join me for a glass of wine in the library, Draco.” It was less an invitation than an order, and Draco nodded, standing.

His mother came to him first, though, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him hard enough that it left his lips bruised. Draco touched his mouth and looked after her in wonder when she left the room. From her hurried steps on the stairs, he knew she was going up to her music room, where she would presumably play a symphony in gratitude for his survival.

_If she was that worried about me, then perhaps she can be persuaded to understand why we can’t just shrug Harry off and forget about him,_ Draco thought hopefully as he followed his father into the library.

The tables were still crowded with books that his parents had obviously been working through, but Lucius paid no attention to them, beyond clapping his hands and ordering the resulting house-elf to pick them up. Then he sat down on the chair in front of Draco and studied him so keenly that Draco’s dinner curdled in his stomach.

“You cursed me with an Unforgivable,” Lucius said, the first passage of swords in the duel.

Draco returned the gaze calmly. He remembered doing so, and again he had a doubled set of memories: horror and agony, triumph and joy. “You nearly killed the man who, it turned out, saved me.”

Lucius thought about that. Then he turned his hand over. “I find the offenses equal. Can we forget about them?”

Draco bowed his head, but he knew that what Lucius was asking for was essentially impossible. He would, perhaps, forgive his father for trying to kill Harry with one part of his brain; Lucius had been desperate to find the cure, and it was possible that the curse would have faded once Draco no longer had someone to focus his obsession on. With the other part of his brain, he remembered what had happened and regretted only that Lucius had not died under his Unforgivable.

But they couldn’t _ignore_ what had happened, and he was mildly contemptuous of his father for thinking they could. He didn’t say that, of course. He sat still, and sipped the new glass of wine that the house-elf had brought him, and waited for his father to speak of the real purpose in their coming here.

Lucius finished his wine before he spoke again. The fire, newly-lit, flickered on his face. He looked thoughtful. Draco was never sure whether that was bad or not until he heard what Lucius had to say as a result of his thoughts.

“You must know,” Lucius said, looking suddenly at Draco, “that we cannot have anyone suspect that you committed crimes while under the curse. It would destroy your reputation, and I want you to live a full life.”

_What does that full life entail?_ Draco thought, warned by the way his father’s words had trailed off. But he nodded. “Potter said that we would work on that tomorrow,” he said, careful to articulate the name he should choose.

Lucius’s smile was his reward. Draco tried not to contrast it with the one he thought Harry would have given him. “Good. Then the second step can be proceeded to. We _must_ distance you from this curse, Draco. I have read about the lingering effects it has on the brain and personality of the affected for what seems like a week.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, Father?” he said, careful not to sound accusing. He would need to be careful around his father for some time now; he could see that, simply given the direction of this part of the conversation. “No one has ever cured _Nova Cupiditas_ before. There is no reason to think we know what will happen to me.”

Lucius shook his head. “Forgive me. I meant spells like it, curses that _are_ curable. They linger and create a double set of memories, a double life. Some of the testimony of victims, and about them, says that they were torn apart.”

Draco grimaced and nodded. He could see why traveling between two opinions, two arguments, two voices in one’s head—both the fragments of one personality, but unable to reconcile—might drive someone mad.

“You need a new interest in your life,” Lucius said softly. “One that trades on some of the same obsessions as this curse, one that you ought to have taken up long since. You are going to marry.”

Draco had just put the wineglass down, and he was glad. His hand didn’t tremble, but he would have squeezed it to shards. He shook his head slightly. “Did your reading _really_ say that a regular shag improves one’s chances of survival after a curse like this, Father?”

Lucius didn’t smile. “You do not understand, Draco,” he said, fingers flexing slowly open and closed like the claws of a great cat. “You need a new interest because this curse was sexual. The reading I have done say that usually the curses’ cure, the cure for this obsession and double-sidedness, is to replace the unnatural interest the curse created with one that resembles it, but is natural. For a curse that encouraged constant talking, the recommended cure might be a holiday with talkative friends, or a new pet. For a curse that required constant jerks of the body, taking up Quidditch or some other physically demanding hobby. And so on.”

Draco lowered his eyes and nodded as though he were seriously considering his father’s solution. In fact, he had rejected it without hesitation the moment he heard about it, the center of his brain feeling as though it was pushed up against a wall.

_And why should that be?_ he thought a moment later. _I don’t doubt that my father’s magical theory is sound. A wife probably would help me to get over the sexual aspect of the curse that was directed towards Potter. I have to distance myself from Harry, and I know that._

Because he didn’t want anyone else. That was the simple truth, and no matter how much Lucius—or Draco himself—didn’t like it, it still remained true. Draco didn’t feel the overwhelming lust for Harry that the curse had given him when first cast, but he _did_ want to sleep with him. He wanted to touch him, see what it was like to suck him off or be buried inside him, and even, perhaps, experience Harry’s cock up _his_ arse. He didn’t want to share his bed with anyone else. The delicate, refined pure-blood witch with a core of steel that his father would probably look for was especially unsuited.

He needed someone male, passionate, devoted. Someone who had fought beside Draco and risked his life for him. Someone who could look Draco in the eyes, unflinching, after Draco had nearly raped him.

It was the lust that told him that, but the rational part of his brain agreed with his darker half. Too great a rupture from Harry right now would simply doom his attempts to recover.

Draco shook his head slightly. He knew that wasn’t what his father wanted to hear, and, quite honestly, Draco didn’t think it was what he wanted to _tell_ him, either. He lifted his head and looked critically at his father, pondering whether he could survive the shock of hearing the truth.

“You haven’t yet agreed with me, Draco.” Lucius had a sharp smile when he was being threatening, and he wore it now. Of course, he would never offer a simple threat, Draco knew. He loved his son. The threat would come soaked in bribes, wrapped around with temptation. “I hope that you know I’ll offer you a choice of several women? I would never order you simply to marry someone whom you might not favor.”

“I know that, Father.” It was the first simple sentence that had passed between them since they came into the library, Draco thought. He picked up his wine again and took what he hoped was a thoughtful, judicious sip.

Lucius leaned forwards. “But I _will_ order you to marry, Draco. The continuance of our family and your world depends on it. I should have ordered it some time since. You will have stability and someone to share your life as well as someone to help you forget about Potter.”

_I never can._

The lust pounded beneath his heart. The jealousy bounded beneath his skin. Draco thought the effects might be temporary, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it, not without more magical help. Of course, that didn’t have to come from Harry. It was possible that St. Mungo’s might be able to do something, now that the greater curse didn’t threaten him, but only a lesser shadow of it. And he could stay away from Harry and hope that the urges would lessen as they didn’t come into physical contact and the memories from the curse’s influence faded.

_Could, but don’t want to._

So that was it, then. Draco would have to murmur meaningless nothings to content his father for now, but he was going back to Harry, and he would work out either a permanent solution or—well, a permanent solution. It simply remained to be seen what kind it would be, not whether it would happen.

“I know that you can order me to marry, Father,” he said calmly. “But I have been through not only the cure to the curse today, but also nearly raping Potter, which he was good enough not to hold against me, and rescuing him from the group of Muggleborn fanatics who cursed me in the first place. Can I rest rather than speak with you any more about it?” He stood up from his chair.

Lucius visibly checked a motion to stop him. “What group—” Then he seemed to take a better look at Draco, and ended up nodding. “Of course, son. God knows that you deserve some chance to rest, especially since you now have a future to look forward to.”

Draco gave him a tired smile and clasped his hand in a quick, tight shake before he climbed up the stairs to his bed.

Where he had been since, wondering what he ought to do and reviewing his family’s reception of him. His mother, he thought, might support him. She seemed to have a better sense of exactly how much they owed to Harry. His father wanted simply to get past it, for these things never to have been.

It was an understandable reaction, but not one that Draco could condone.

In the morning, he would see Harry. Draco reminded himself of that and closed his eyes. It was enough. He would _force_ it to be enough.

*

“Harry.” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s face was surprised, but he managed to mask the yawn that threatened to crack his jaws open. “I’m glad to hear from you. And glad to hear that you’ve survived,” he added.

Harry nodded. The gossip would have spread when he left St. Mungo’s with Draco, of course, and Ron and Hermione might have said something to Kingsley, too. “I have a favor to ask, Minister,” he said.

Kingsley blinked. “You know that I’m always happy to do anything I can for you, Harry,” he said, and then smiled. “Is it another Order of Merlin?”

Harry shook his head, though he relaxed enough to smile back. He’d campaigned for a posthumous Order of Merlin for Snape until he managed to pin one on the stubborn git’s portrait in the Headmaster’s office. “No. Actually, I need your word that you’ll seal the record of crimes that someone performed under a curse.”

Kingsley blinked and stared at him. “Harry,” he said softly, at last, sounding as though Harry had knocked the wind out of him. “You can’t—the crimes need to be at least _tried_ , even if we ultimately decide not to convict.”

“There are two things that I can offer you,” Harry said. “The first is that I cured _Nova Cupiditas_ today. I want to share the knowledge with the Ministry, and I’ll offer it to you free of charge and immediately, writing down all my notes—but not if I know that someone who committed crimes because he wasn’t in his right mind is going to be treated like a criminal.”

Kingsley blinked again. Then he said, “That serious, eh? And what’s the other?”

Harry pulled back the fringe over his scar. Kingsley gave him an inquiring, baffled scowl, and Harry, having lowered his voice even further than Kingsley’s had gone, said, “I know that you once said that all Britain owed me a favor because of this scar and what it means. I never called in that favor. I’m doing it now.”

After that, it was all over but the spluttering. Kingsley didn’t like it, but he knew well enough the scandal that Harry could create if he wanted to, and since both Harry and Draco had survived and Harry was willing to testify that he hadn’t been raped, Kingsley’s greatest fears were allayed. He did pale when Harry recounted the murders of the Seekers of Justice, but Harry reminded him that the Aurors hadn’t caught the Muggleborns before now, which might point to some corruption among them, _and_ that they would have the means to reverse _Nova Cupiditas_ for anyone the Seekers of Justice used it on in the future. Kingsley gave in, with bad grace.

The Floo connection closed, and Harry sat back on his heels and shook for a while.

It was done, something he despised himself for. He had _never_ traded on his fame. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Draco suffering for something that hadn’t been his fault, that had been the curse’s violent manifestations, and was Harry’s fault if it was anyone’s. He should have tied up Draco and deprived him permanently of his wand much earlier.

He could give Draco this final gift, to ensure that he could return to his normal life untouched.

But he would still meet Draco tomorrow. To say good-bye.


	20. Problems Twice Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“I think that you need to take a few days to recover, Harry.”

Harry smiled wearily at Hermione over the top of his cup of Pepper-Up Potion. He had thought he’d better take some this morning, since he was meeting Draco in a few hours and he didn’t want to stumble around, bleary-eyed and misty-minded, after being up all of last night. Saying the wrong thing could damage his relationship with Draco beyond repair.

_Since when does that matter? You know that you won’t see him again after this. You could insult him the way you did when you were a child and it wouldn’t matter._

Harry shook his head and sipped some more of the potion. He wanted them to part as friends, at least, and to show that they could coexist. He thought Draco might want the same thing, under the confused feelings that the curse had given him.

“Harry.” Hermione put her hand on his. “I’ll be more blunt, since you seem not to be listening to me. Take a few days to stay home and think about this, before you go to Malfoy. You’ll go to him now with your head all mixed up, and who knows what you’ll do or say? You’ve been through a lot. You’re hurting. You can’t defend yourself if you don’t put your thoughts in order.”

“I won’t have to _defend_ myself,” Harry snapped. “Draco isn’t perfectly recovered yet, either. He’ll probably still remember the loyalty and love he felt towards me under the curse, and that means he’ll be quiet instead of lashing out.”

“I meant that you could protect yourself from getting hurt again.” Hermione’s voice softened still further. “I know that you might feel I haven’t been a very good friend lately, Harry, and I apologize. But Malfoy won’t come back. You have to look towards the future and protect your heart from being hurt.”

Harry grunted, and said nothing. She might be right. He didn’t know. He had to hope she was right, he thought a moment later, because otherwise Draco would still feel too much for him that was the result of the curse and its magic.

Not real. Nothing they had been to each other was real.

_Except to me._

Yes, it was stupid and it was childish and it wasn’t something that he could admit to Draco because it might set his recovery back, but he had, in fact, come to feel things for Draco that the curse couldn’t excuse or explain. He had never been under it. And yet he had come close to yielding to Draco’s words of affection and romance and seduction, false as he knew they all were. He had come close to wishing that Draco would still look at him the same way when the curse was partially lifted.

_I have to fight harder against myself for that very reason, because giving in and doing what my body and heart want me to do would be unfair to Draco. He’ll struggle with the curse for a time. He might struggle forever. I’d be preying on him._

Harry sighed and continued drinking his potion. He knew the danger. He also knew that putting things further off wouldn’t help, because the longer he waited, the more dangerous, and higher, the chance that he would convince himself it didn’t matter if he just _hinted_ to Draco that his own feelings were real. But he couldn’t do that. Draco needed to be as free as possible to make his own choices, take his own path. The Seekers of Justice had tried to take that from him. Harry was going to give it back.

“Harry? Are you listening to me?”

“I can listen,” Harry said, reaching out so that he could squeeze her hand in return. He wouldn’t die because he didn’t have Draco, he reminded himself. That wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t die of a broken heart because his heart wasn’t about to break. He had his friends, and he would go on.

_I can always do that. What was the way I fought Voldemort but just—enduring, through death and the walk there?_

*

“I wish you to consider the following, Draco.”

From Lucius’s tone, Draco thought he would recite a long list of conditions, but instead, Lucius handed him a scroll and several photographs. Blinking, Draco put them on the table in front of him while he studied them. They were all photographs of pure-blood witches, as he could see at a glance, several of them familiar to him from Hogwarts.

“These are the women that you want me to marry,” Draco murmured. His mouth was filled with ashes. He licked his lips and tried to think of something else to say, but what was there? Lucius had told him that he wanted Draco to marry, that it was going to happen, and that Draco had no choice.

“Oh, of course not all of them.” His father sat across from him, smiling as if he had made a clever joke. “Only choose one.”

Draco nodded without looking up, because his eyes would betray his horror and disgust. Instead, he sorted through the pictures as though he was giving them serious consideration. Astoria Greengrass drew him for a moment because she had, along with the pale hair, bright green eyes that reminded him of Harry’s.

But they weren’t as bright, and she hadn’t risked her life for him, and she hadn’t done something romantic and impossible for him. Draco laid her photograph carefully aside and looked at the rest. Pretty faces enough, and impeccable lineages and large fortunes, which he knew would be more important to his father.

But…

One part of his mind could intellectually consider the force of that argument, even though emotionally, he couldn’t feel it. The other part dreamed restlessly of Harry and lit his blood on fire at random moments, telling him that Harry wouldn’t be long in finding someone to date or marry if Draco wed.

_I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come to a conclusion about that,_ Draco thought, as the sensation of jealousy faded and he returned to his “normal” mind. _Harry couldn’t give me my normal life and mind back._

He had to smile at that thought, a moment later. And if Harry had, what would Draco have done with the memories of the curse that haunted him? He might not have remembered them as strongly or clearly, but he would have had to deal with them. Putting that confrontation off would do no good.

“Make your choice as soon as you can,” Lucius said casually, blowing across his tea. “I would like Mr. Potter to know that, while we are grateful, there is no chance that he can become part of the Malfoy family.”

Draco froze. Then he reached out and picked up Astoria’s photograph as though he was considering it more closely, while his mind went quietly back to work.

_Ah. Of course. This isn’t about Father wanting heirs soon, or even wanting to take my mind off the sexual aspect of the curse, the way he told me it was. It’s about Father wanting to make sure that Harry knows he isn’t welcome in the inviolate little circle of our family._

Draco felt his lips part in a silent growl. Yes, he could see the reasoning. That didn’t mean he would ever agree with it. He knew that Harry wouldn’t have demanded marriage as the price of the cure, even assuming that the cure was full instead of partial, even assuming that he had been in love with Draco.

_But I don’t want him to marry anyone else. I couldn’t stand for that._

Draco grunted and looked up. “I’ll still need some time to think about it, Father. I want someone more than simply a woman who can bear healthy heirs. She has to be handsome enough to tempt me, and to have a personality that I can live with. You were lucky in Mother. I dare not hope I will be as lucky.”

“It is true that your mother is a rare kind of prize,” Lucius said, with the kind of self-satisfied smile that had, more than once, made Draco want to hit hm. “But you may have your time, son.” He spoke as though he were giving a sweet to a child, which meant Draco took a bite of toast so that he wouldn’t be tempted to snap. “Do not take too long. Do not speak to Mr. Potter again. That is all I ask.”

Draco grunted again and stood up, sweeping the scroll and the photographs with him. The scroll turned out to list the lineages of the women his father was offering, the time since their last intermarriage with the Malfoy family, and the amount of their fortunes, to Draco’s complete lack of surprise.

And all the while that he was preparing to go into the library and act like an obedient son, he knew that he would rebel. He would see Harry again. He would think. He would make a choice.

It might not be the one that his father wanted him to make.

*

“You don’t want one of us to go with you?” Ron was looking at Harry with wide, concerned eyes, as if he saw him about to walk off a cliff.

“It can’t work that way,” Harry said, with a brisk shake of his head. He managed to keep his eyes mostly off Hermione, who looked even more upset. He checked his face in the mirror, and nodded when he realized that he looked calm and not too pale. That was good. He wasn’t—he knew that he couldn’t go to this meeting with the intention of winning Draco back. He would just have to hope that things went well anyway, despite intense desires of the heart pulling him in a second direction. “We have to be alone.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ron said, just loud enough for Harry to hear him.

Harry pretended that he hadn’t heard anyway, and turned to kiss Hermione on the cheek. “I hope that you don’t wait up late for me,” he said softly. “I should be back—I mean, it shouldn’t take me that long.”

“I’m going to wait anyway,” Hermione said grimly, looking at him now as though she’d like to cast an _Incarcerous_ charm. Harry stepped briskly towards the fireplace. Draco had sent him an owl not long before noon requesting that they meet not far from the Manor’s grounds. Harry was planning to Floo to Diagon Alley and then Apparate from there, since he didn’t put it past reporters to follow him.

_Or Draco’s parents to spy, for that matter._

Ron, who Harry knew wouldn’t be waiting since he had to go back to work as an Auror today, called out softly, “Be careful.”

Harry nodded to him and cast a handful of Floo powder into the fire, which flared. When he went through into the Leaky Cauldron, he received the usual number of appreciative glances, but most of the people there seemed lost in both drink and their thoughts. Harry smiled. Although he hadn’t suggested the time to Draco, he was grateful that Draco had chosen it. Most of the people Harry would meet in the Cauldron at this hour of the day were the serious drinkers, the brooders, with no reason to remember that a hero had passed them.

_Which you’re not. You’re the hero only in other people’s minds._

Harry winced as he nodded to Tom and then ducked out of the building and made his way towards one of the isolated Apparition points. He had to watch out for thoughts like _that_ one, too. If he thought of himself too much as a hero, then he might think that Draco owed him something, and he might ask for…

Harry ground his teeth. What was _wrong_ with him? He had rescued other people and never wanted this particular thing from them.

_You didn’t see them naked, either,_ his thoughts whispered back to him. _That’s all this is. It’s lust, not love._

Harry sighed and closed his eyes as he drew his wand and spun around before the Apparition. He didn’t think that was really true, except in his most cynical moments, but he _was_ afraid that a large part of his feelings for Draco were based on pity.

*

Draco, walking in the field near the Manor where he had told Harry to meet him, paused when he shimmered into sight.

He had expected to feel either more or less than he did. He didn’t think he had a _good_ handle on his emotions right now. He would make mistakes. He would be withdrawn when he should be forward, and vice versa. He would snap at Harry over things that weren’t Harry’s fault. Or he would try to pull back behind a wall of coldness the way that his father would have and he wouldn’t get it right, leaving Harry to scorn him for not having the courage of his convictions.

He hadn’t expected the way his heartbeat suddenly seemed to fill his head. Or how his mouth flooded with so much saliva that he couldn’t say anything at all. Or the way that his hands clenched at his sides as his mind bulged with emotions.

“Hi, Draco.” Harry cast him a cautious glance. He was standing with his head half-bowed, as though he assumed Draco would attack him. “I—are you all right? Physically, I mean? I wanted to ask after I halved the curse, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”

“I’m doing all right,” Draco whispered. “The aftereffects are mental and emotional.”

Harry grimaced and dragged his hand through his hair. He shouldn’t do that, Draco thought, almost mindless. _Draco_ should. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. I—”

Then he stopped, and stared. Draco looked up, too, and quickly snatched his hand back. It had reached out without his permission, arching towards Potter’s head. _He’s Potter,_ Draco told himself, dropped the hand back to his side, fixed his gaze on the ground, and shrugged.

“Yeah, I see,” Harry said, as if Draco had made a declaration aloud. He hesitated. Then he added, “I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about the persecution from the Ministry that you might have worried about. I told them everything, but I gave them the half-cure to _Nova Cupiditas_ that I worked out and called on my fame. I’d never done that before, and I think Kingsley was kind of—upset. But he’s agreed to cover up what happened. The only person who might not agree is your father, but I don’t think he’ll be any too eager to go back to Azkaban if he doesn’t have to.”

“No,” Draco said. His tongue and lips felt numb. He fumbled around for a subject inside his head and ended up adding, “I—Father wants me to marry.”

*

It was like a blow across the stomach. Harry closed his eyes.

_Pity and lust,_ he reminded himself. _It’s nothing more than that. It will never be anything more than that, since you’re separate now and will have to remain separate until the end of time, to make it fair._

“I—well, that’s for the best, maybe,” Harry mumbled. He couldn’t bring himself to sound happy about it, but he hoped Draco would attribute that to shock rather than anger. “If you haven’t so far, and he wants a Malfoy heir, then you should have one before someone else tries to hurt you.”

Draco abruptly snarled at him, eyes slitting as though he were fighting strong sunlight. “And that’s the only reason you care, is it?” he snapped, his voice so thick that Harry took a moment to make out the words. “Because if I were married, I would stay out of _trouble_ , and keep you from having to perform so many underappreciated heroic efforts?”

Harry blinked and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t know what had made Draco react like that, and so he didn’t know whether he should be angry or hopeful or cautious. “What are you talking about?”

“I know that you don’t care about Malfoy heirs and my family’s bloodline and all the rest of it,” Draco said roughly, leaning forwards as if he assumed that he would spring on Harry and rend him apart. Harry’s body tensed with eagerness for that, and Harry shook his head. Draco’s voice sharpened. “So that must mean that you want me to stay out of trouble, and you assume that a marriage would do it.”

“Not what I meant,” Harry said, starting to get a bit angry himself. Even the knowledge that Draco was still suffering under the remnants of the curse, and so it made sense that he would get upset at nothing and otherwise lose control of his emotions, couldn’t make him calm down. He’d come here to perform the delicate and painful task of saying farewell, not to argue about something that didn’t matter. “I only meant that you’ll be moving on with your life, and if a marriage helps you do that, it’s for the best.”

Draco shook his head. “Moving on with my life. What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Harry’s fingers curled around air. That was a good thing, he told himself. Draco was going to row with him if he was back to his normal self; of course he was. Harry only wished that he didn’t feel short of breath because of it. “You’ll put the curse behind you,” he said. “The Seekers of Justice didn’t manage to kill you. The Ministry will track them down now that they have the knowledge I gave them. Anyone who uses _Nova Cupiditas_ on you again can be stopped. You’ll forget about this, put it behind you.”

“Idiot,” Draco said. His voice was cold with the kind of coldness that Harry thought was meant to conceal pain as well as anger. “You assume that nearly raping someone, nearly being raped yourself, is _that_ easy to get over?”

“The only other option is constantly reliving it,” Harry said. He took a step away from Draco. Maybe it would be easier to think if he wasn’t standing so close and remembering the way Draco’s lips had looked when they formed some of the words he’d spoken. _All delusion,_ Harry reminded himself again, forcefully. “You don’t want to do that.”

“The option I _want_ ,” Draco hissed, “is coming to terms with it. Really understanding it, and what it meant, and keeping it from poisoning my life.”

“Well, marriage might help with that,” Harry said. “The emotions you’ll feel for your wife can’t be anything like the emotions the curse mimicked for me, can they?”

Draco edged nearer. Harry carefully backed away to keep the right amount of distance between them without looking like a coward. He could hardly tell why they were rowing, only that it _had_ to be the right thing to do, since Draco was back to normal now—or as much back to normal as Harry thought he would ever get—and he must resent the alien things he felt for Harry.

“You’re doing it again,” Draco said. “Acting as though you know me, and you can dismiss what I think and feel because it doesn’t fit the neat little picture you’ve drawn of me. _Stop it._ ”

Harry winced a little from the sharpness of Draco’s tone, but shook his head. “How can I?” he asked. “You can’t know exactly what you feel right now. That’s normal, since the curse remains attached to you. And I know that we have to separate. I came here because I was going to tell you about the bargain I made. And now I should go.”

*

The jealousy, never entirely subdued since this morning when he had thought of Harry with someone else, flooded through Draco again. And the lust, which had been renewed by seeing the git stand there as if nothing had happened, except that his eyes were too bright and he looked at Draco too often for that to be true.

And he said…

And he acted…

Draco didn’t know all he felt, but he knew he was angry, and he knew why, and when Harry announced that he was going to leave because, of course, _he_ was the only one who got to make decisions about something that concerned both of them, Draco’s temper exploded.

He covered the distance between them so fast that Harry couldn’t have stopped him even if he had known Draco was coming. He grabbed Harry’s arms and pinned them behind him at the wrist, then spun him around so that Harry’s back was to his chest. Draco bent down and spoke certain truths into Harry’s ear, trying to ignore the way that he felt and smelled this close, while all the time reveling in it.

“I’m not going to listen to you say things like that. You have no idea what I really feel, and you’re not going to walk away.”

Harry stood there and spoke more calmly than Draco would have thought he could. Of course, Draco remembered, Harry was the one who had faced more dangerous situations than probably any other wizard alive right now. He had had the time to get used to them. “I’m not trying to ignore what you feel. I’m trying to _help_ you. How can you be sure of what’s real and what’s not, when you’re still partially under the curse? The only thing that would help us is a complete separation, so you can be sure.”

Draco laughed. The sound was too hysterical for his taste, and he stopped after a moment. “And how do you know that that would help?” he snarled into Harry’s ear. God, his mouth watered. He wanted to bite Harry’s earlobe and keep chewing until Harry cried out in surrender. “How do you know that I wouldn’t long for you, and the emotions wouldn’t fade? The curse is only half-gone. I have to live with it the way it is, not the way I wish it could be.”

The last thing he expected after that speech was for Harry to draw in a pained breath and shut his eyes.

“I’ m so sorry, Draco,” he whispered. “I should have come up with a way to destroy the curse completely.”

Draco shook him so hard that Harry’s head flopped back and forth. Rage rode through him now, rage that he could recognize was born of confusion and despair without being able to do anything about it. It didn’t matter how many times he said it, he thought. Harry still wasn’t _listening!_

“This isn’t about you, you great, _stupid_ git,” he hissed into Harry’s ear. He thought Harry’s eyes had fluttered open in shock, but he wasn’t really sure. “You’re always taking the opportunity to be a martyr or a masochist, and you’re not seeing me the way I really am. Look at me! Don’t hide from me behind the wall of your own guilt.”

Harry twisted around so that he was staring up at Draco. Draco stared back, and wondered what those green eyes, which were wide with fear or pain or both at the moment, actually saw.

Not enough, as it turned out. Harry lowered his head and shook it back and forth, his face bright with self-loathing. “You can’t be sure of what you feel right now, since the curse manipulated and controlled your emotions,” he muttered. “It’s still controlling your emotions, for all you know. You—”

“If that’s the case, then I’ll have to bloody well _live_ with it, won’t I?” Draco snarled into his face. “Contend with every feeling. Scrutinize every thought. But _not_ hide from it, _not_ pretend that the curse doesn’t exist or doesn’t matter, and _not_ spend the rest of my life distrusting myself because I can’t be _sure_. Sometimes I’ll be sure. Sometimes I’ll act. And the sure thing I know right now is that this isn’t over, no matter what.”

He fastened his mouth over Harry’s and kissed him as hard as he could. Harry made a choked sound, his eyes wide. Draco smirked against his mouth, and then flung Harry away and stood back, panting.

“That felt good,” he said.

Harry touched his lips as if he expected to find bruising forming there. Then he shook his head a little. “Because of the curse,” he said.

“No,” Draco snapped. “Because it did. Because my body still responds to yours, curse or not. And you want to do it again. I can see it in your eyes,” he added, when Harry opened his mouth as if to deny that. “Unless you’re going to tell me that _you’re_ somehow affected by the curse, now, despite not having it cast on you?”

Harry’s frown deepened. “I’m affected by its existence,” he muttered. “Of course I am.”

Draco nodded. “We’re connected. And this isn’t over. I’m going to go away and think some more now. And _you’re_ going to go away and do the best you can to get over your guilt. I’ll hunt you down otherwise,” he added casually, enjoying the flash of panic in Harry’s eyes.

He turned to stride towards the Manor, but had to pause and say over his shoulder, “You were concerned about the curse affecting my integrity and my freedom as a human being. Well, the only one who can make decisions for me is _me_. When it comes to decisions about the both of us, you can participate, of course,” he added generously. “But you don’t get to take my choices away because of what you fear. That’s what _they_ did.”

Harry’s eyes flashed before he lowered them. Draco smiled. This might be a useful way to employ Harry’s guilt.

And away he went, feeling as though he walked in sunlight for the first time in weeks.


	21. High-Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

_What is the way that you can know if impulses in your head are yours or coming from a curse?_

Draco drew a line on the floor around him with his wand while he thought about that. The line shone red for long moments before it finally faded back to a dull scarlet glow. Draco studied it for some time. The book that had described this particular series of spells hadn’t said that the protective circle should do that.

On the other hand, it _had_ said the circle might look a bit different if the person creating it was under a mind-controlling spell. Draco snorted to himself. He suspected that half the _Nova Cupiditas_ curse still counted.

He sat down on the floor inside the circle, because he didn’t know how long it would take to cast this series of spells, and then checked the door one more time. He’d raised the wards on it before creating the circle, since the whole purpose of the protective circle was not to let magic out, but he could still imagine someone intruding all too easily.

Silence. He was going to keep all of this silent if he could.

Draco turned back to the center of the circle and closed his eyes. He could have brought the book into the center with him, but it had once been a point of pride with him that he could memorize any spells he needed. And he doubted that Harry had needed to look up the spells; the notes he had studied in his lab had a different purpose.

Jealousy drifted through his head like a wandering flame. _What is he doing there right now? Who’s with him?_

Draco stifled the impulse, with some difficulty, to spring to his feet, dash the circle apart, and go to see, and began to chant instead. The books he’d consulted had suggested that he start the spells when a manifestation of the mind-control spell occurred, and short of waiting for a blast of the lust, Draco couldn’t think of a better time.

The spells were complex, long strings of Latin that wound through his head like chains. Draco had to concentrate on them, but his mind roamed back and forth in the meantime, picking up other images and threading them together.

He could see Harry the way he had seen him today, with his eyes wide and his hands clutching uselessly at the air as though he wanted to reach for his wand but wasn’t sure it was the appropriate response. That uncertainty was his biggest ally, Draco thought. If Harry decided that something was right and he didn’t have to doubt, he would move heaven and earth to make it happen. But he didn’t know at the moment, and so he had to hesitate.

Neither did Draco know. That was what the spells he was chanting at the moment were designed to help him find out.

He saw Harry the way he had looked when he was on the bed in Draco’s private house, trembling on the edge of yielding, his whole face so raw with emotion that it was like staring at an extra layer of nakedness beneath the skin. Draco tried to consider dispassionately what would have happened if Harry _had_ given in, the disasters that would have resulted, but that was hard when lust blazed around the edges of his thoughts and his groin swelled.

Had he lost track of the latest spell? No, he hadn’t. Draco did take a deep breath and go back to concentrating, though. He didn’t want to lose his balance and be forced to repeat the whole series of spells over again.

He could see Harry the way he had looked when he was trying to plead with Draco not to hurt his father, not to hurt the Muggleborn fanatics. Not his finest moment, Draco acknowledged with the rational part of his mind. He could even say that it made him weak and sick with panic and revulsion, and he would be speaking the truth.

But there was still part of him that thought the most important thing was to protect Harry, and couldn’t regret anything he had done in the pursuit of that goal.

Draco shook his head, not hard enough to make him lose track of the spells he was spinning, and kept on chanting. He would do what he could to subdue those impulses, but first he had to understand how deeply they were woven into his brain.

The last syllable passed his lips, and a sharp crack cut across the air. Draco started, but kept his eyes closed. If he looked now, the book had warned, it was possible that he would have to begin over again because he would be so distracted.

The air next to him grew warm, and Draco could see light playing across his shut eyelids, as though the sun was shining in through one of his bedroom windows. Since they were all enchanted and showed only what he wanted them to show, he doubted that was the case. But he had nothing else to do other than control himself, it sometimes seemed, at least when it came to living with the curse, so he sat still and continued to breathe in and out.

He finally heard the sound that the book had told him to watch for: a loud, shrill whistle splitting the air outside the circle, which died down to a sigh. When Draco opened his eyes and saw the shining image in front of him, he let his own breath out in a sigh that nearly matched it. He was more impressed with himself than he had ever been, seeing what he had created just now, on the first try and with no prior training.

The image of his head was near-perfect, threaded with shining strings of red and white. The red represented the effects on his brain from a mind-control spell, and the white represented the spell itself. Draco had expected to see the picture of his head overcrowded with both.

Instead, he saw the white strings clustered in just one spot, towards the front of his brain. What part that was, he had no idea. He would have to do some more reading. But the red strings spread throughout, deepening into dusky or wine-colored shades in certain areas.

Draco smiled sourly. He should have realized. Yes, his actions were influenced by the remnants of _Nova Cupiditas,_ but in such subtle ways that he probably couldn’t say for certain which ones were free and which ones were constrained.

And even if they were influenced, did that mean that he had to stop and interrogate himself every time he wanted to do something?

Harry would probably say yes. Draco could see Harry hesitating forever on the cusp of commitment, worried about damaging Draco, or abridging his free will—although he hadn’t seemed to worry about that when he was on the verge of saying farewell forever, Draco thought sardonically—or raping him.

But if this was right—and he would need to cast more spells to be certain—Draco knew he had only two choices.

One was to spend the rest of his life obsessed, paralyzed, with the study of his own actions. Was he free? Was he a slave? Was he hurting someone else, or himself, or his family’s reputation, or what he could have, with the way he acted?

The other was to accept that he would need a small waiting period before he made important decisions or took important actions. That wasn’t the same thing as deciding that he needed to _brood_. And if he couldn’t ever be completely sure, well, he would live with that the same way he would have lived with the scars from self-mutilation that he had fully expected the curse to produce.

_But will Harry be willing to live with it?_

Draco shrugged. At the moment, he didn’t know the answer to that question, and he couldn’t let his speculations control his choices.

But he did know one thing. The curse had changed him. Of course it had. It would have been silly to expect to come out of an experience like that unscathed.

He thought the price of potential uncertainty worth paying for what he had now, and much cheaper than it might have been.

*

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked the moment she saw him step out of the fireplace.

Harry grunted under his breath and made a beeline for the kitchen. He needed to _do_ something to get him over the encounter with Draco, he thought. He wanted to do research, or cast spells, or leaf through his notes and find those fascinating charms that he had written down years before and practice them. But that wasn’t a good idea in the mood he was in right now; he might make something blow up. Brewing potions was out for the same reason, and because Harry never _had_ got that good at them.

But he could cook. He got out a bunch of vegetables that he had more or less randomly collected and placed under a Freezing Charm, and began to cut and chop them. He could have done that by magic, but after a short struggle, he had laid his wand out of reach so that it wouldn’t be a temptation.

“That bad?” Hermione asked from the doorway.

Harry took a deep breath. He wondered how much clearer he could make it that he didn’t want to talk. Ron would have understood, he thought. Or Remus, who had been so gentle that sometimes having him around in the background, talking soothingly, had been the best company that Harry could imagine.

Or Draco.

But Hermione was herself and wouldn’t turn into any of those people, so Harry stepped up what he was doing, because Hermione wouldn’t bother someone who was obviously busy. He thought he heard her sigh, but she also went into the drawing room, and that left Harry alone to make his enormous salad.

When it was made, Harry looked at the bright, clashing colors and realized he had no appetite for it right now. He cast a Freezing Charm, then changed his mind and cast a Stasis Charm instead. Freezing would probably ruin some of those ingredients right now, but Stasis would keep it perfectly intact until he wanted it.

That done, it was time to go into the drawing room and face the Granger Inquisition. Harry dusted off his hands and walked slowly towards her, wondering if he could actually put his feelings into words. He had succeeded in not thinking about it for a while, though, which was all he had wanted when he began the salad.

Hermione looked up at him and gave him a strained smile. “Are you ever going to see him again?” she asked.

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected her to ask that. He sat down and looked at her, and Hermione did nothing but look, pale and agitated, back at him.

“I don’t know,” Harry finally had to admit. “I don’t think it would be good, because I don’t think he has any concept of how much the remaining curse is still influencing his actions. But he insists that he does, and that—by doubting him, I’m inflicting the same kind of pain on him that the Seekers of Justice did.” He winced when he thought about that. The accusation stung him in the deepest parts of his mind, the ones that had convinced him he had to do the best he could for everyone and that helping Draco was right.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “You must know that’s not true. You’re right to be cautious about the things he’s doing as long as the curse remains.”

Harry looked up. “You think I wouldn’t have to if I could find a means to get rid of the curse completely?”

“Well, of course,” Hermione said, blinking a little, as if she hadn’t thought of that particular solution. “But I don’t think you can, and I _do_ think that you should stop beating yourself up about it. You can move past this if you do it slowly. Keep away from him, and then you can’t be hurting him _or_ dictating his choices.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know if he’ll let me,” he admitted. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Hermione understood him better than he had thought. “And I’m not sure that I could even if I wanted to.”

Hermione did shoot him a quick frown then. “You have to do what’s best for your mental health, of course,” she said dubiously. “But ultimately, don’t you think it would be better for your mental health if you stayed at a distance?”

“Why?” Harry was curious about what she would say. He had run his own arguments through his head so many times that they had grown stale and tired.

“Because,” Hermione said, and made a sweeping gesture with one hand that Harry thought was meant to encompass all the many and varied reasons she couldn’t put words to right now. “He nearly _raped_ you. Can you forget that?”

“I don’t want to,” Harry said. “I want to confront it, and I think the only way I can do that is in his company.”

Hermione sighed and spread her hands wide again. “Fine. I may have phrased myself badly.” That would have been an occasion for Harry to tease her on any other occasion, but now he could only manage a wan smile and wait for the next part of the interrogation. “Can you _forgive_ him? Trying to have a relationship with him is worse than self-destructive if you can’t. And I think there are some crimes that shouldn’t be forgiven. If he used a Dark curse on Ron, then you might—”

“You can’t have it both ways, Hermione,” Harry said impatiently. “Either he’s not in control of his actions and I should stay away from him because I might be hurt, or he knew what he was doing all along and he’s responsible for his crimes, which means that he can also restrain himself.”

“Either way, it means you should stay away from him,” Hermione said, though she had the good grace to blush as she spoke. “I don’t know whether or not to hold him responsible for cursing Ron and trying to rape you. These are _serious_ crimes, Harry, and whether or not he’s charged for them doesn’t really matter. Can you know what he did and look at him without it coming between you? How _can_ you? It might be kinder to leave him behind now than to promise him a future you can’t make with him.”

Harry shut his eyes. She was right about one thing: he could still see Ron and Lucius writhing on the floor under the curses that Draco had cast on them when he closed his eyes. He accepted that Draco had been under _Nova Cupiditas_ and not responsible, but that only turned the blame in a new direction.

Onto him. If he had taken Draco’s wand away and sealed it in a secure place, then those curses wouldn’t have happened. Harry could have dealt with Ron’s antagonism towards Draco and Lucius’s attempts to kill him on his own.

He sighed. He thought sometimes that he was in love with Draco, sometimes that he only pitied him, but either way, he didn’t know what his emotions meant, and this wasn’t a good time to try and figure it out.

“I’ll do the very best I can, Hermione,” he said. “But I can’t leave him with no word, either.”

“Then send him word by an owl or a firecall.” Hermione’s voice was kind, but firm. “I absolutely agree that he needs to understand what you’re doing, so he doesn’t come after you again. But being in his presence seems to affect your brain too much. Doing it from a distance is best.”

Harry shivered. He didn’t want to leave Draco behind, but how much of that was real affection and how much was concern that Draco couldn’t stand on his own because he still didn’t know what effects the torn, tattered half-curse might have?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how he would ever live with the uncertainty.

He stood up, shaking his head. Hermione stood up, too, as if she would come with him, but Harry smiled at her in a strained way that made her lift her eyebrows and stare at him. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not good company right now. But I think that you should stay here. I have to think it over.”

“From the way I saw you making that salad, thinking it over is the last thing you’ll do,” Hermione said, her face darkening. “You’ll run from it and do something else that occupies so much of your thoughts you have none left over.”

Harry hunched his shoulders and turned away from her, glad when she didn’t pursue him. She might be right, but he didn’t see what else he could do. He needed someone’s help to work through this, but there was no one he would have trusted except possibly Draco—whose help was the last he could have. He should avoid thinking about it until he was more sure, but how was he to become more sure?

_I can’t live with this uncertainty._

That was the only insight to come out of this muddle of thoughts that he trusted, and so Harry caught it, grasped it, held it. He wanted certainties to stand on. He knew that he didn’t want to hurt Draco. He knew he wanted to see Draco again. He knew that he couldn’t stand to love Draco if his feelings turned out to be delusions, much less self-delusions.

He would tell that to Draco the next time he saw him, and ask if Draco had any good way of differentiating his actions under the half-curse from the actions he would naturally have taken in the situation.

Harry suspected that he knew what the answer would be.

*

“I need your decision on the matter of your marriage soon, son.”

Draco raised his head and regarded his father across the breakfast table. Lucius had a faint, polite smile on his lips, but Draco didn’t think it would stay polite for long. He was too obviously looking for the scroll and the photographs that he had given Draco the day before.

“I have made one,” Draco said, and dabbed carefully at the bits of egg left on his lips with his napkin before putting the plate aside. Lucius waited until the plate had vanished with its attendant house-elf before he leaned forwards and gazed at Draco searchingly.

“You seem more confident this morning,” he remarked.

“I am.” Draco remembered that vision of the red and white of the spell coiling through his head. _I’m always influenced. I’m always making decisions that may not be completely free, because of that bloody curse. I’ll always have to question myself and wonder how much of what I’m doing, thinking, feeling, saying is real._

But he was wise enough to know that that had always been true. He was always in danger of doing something because of his father’s influence, or to please his parents, or because he wanted to avoid a confrontation, or because of the twisted ideals the Dark Lord had tried to implant in his followers, or because he didn’t have all the information about the circumstances that he would need to make a totally unbiased decision. The curse was different, and it had changed him differently, but complete freedom was an illusion.

He wondered if that would be easier for him to accept than it would be for Harry. Harry _had_ had the idea that he could affect the whole world, that his free choice to confront the Dark Lord and defeat him would change things for the better. Draco didn’t think he would entertain the notion that Gryffindor House or his friends had probably influenced him as much in making that choice as his own innate goodness.

_Not that his innate goodness isn’t pretty bloody strong,_ Draco thought with a faint smile.

“Draco. You said that you had made a decision.”

Draco blinked and looked up. Lucius was by now leaning forwards as if he would rise from the chair. Draco hadn’t realized that he was that dependent on Draco’s words, or that irritated by his silence.

“Yes,” Draco said. “I’ve chosen not to marry any of those women right now. Perhaps I will eventually.” It was always possible that his relationship with Harry wouldn’t work out, or that Harry would be unable to bear the uncertainty that Draco had embraced. Or he wouldn’t explain himself well enough, or something unrelated would split them apart down the road. Draco couldn’t see all the possibilities. He could only live with what he had decided was acceptable.

His father went still, and Draco would have known from that stillness, if he hadn't suspected it already, that his answer was the wrong one. The difference was that he had decided not to allow his father to influence him more than was absolutely necessary, such as the way that he was influenced simply by having Malfoy as a last name. Draco reached out a hand, and the house-elf had a glass of water ready and waiting for him by the time that his arm finished extending. Draco sipped from it, savored the clink of ice against his lips, and waited.

"You must choose now," Lucius said. He said it gently, as if he assumed that Draco would be more inclined to pay attention if he did that.

"Why?" Draco asked, looking up. "My name was recently in the papers as a victim of _Nova Cupiditas._ They won't be expecting any miraculous recovery right now, any marriage proposal. There's no reason that I can't wait a short time and find out what happens. Perhaps some of the families you wanted me to marry into will reveal their true qualities in their reaction to the news."

"Their quality is already assured." Lucius was speaking through grinding teeth, but Draco saw no reason why he should allow _that_ to influence him. "As Potter's lack of quality is."

Draco nodded, unsurprised. He would have been far more upset if he had ever assumed that his father had another motive for the marriage, but he didn't. "Ah. So being an acknowledged hero and a clever research wizard and the man who saved your son is not enough for you to welcome him as a son-in-law."

Lucius's face shifted like a winter sea stirred by the wind. "You do not understand, Draco," he murmured at last. "The family is larger than the individual. He cannot give you children. He cannot bring you money."

"His body and his soul are all the wealth he needs," Draco said.

"And you cannot be sure that you are reacting to him free from the trammels of the curse," Lucius said, with the undertone of someone trying to reason with the mentally ill. "That must matter to you. Why would you want to sleep with someone merely to please the magic that constrains you?"

Draco's body burned with fiery ice at the thought of sleeping with Harry, but he thought he kept that off his face. He _thought_ he did. "Why should I want to sleep with someone merely to please you?" he asked.

"I forbid it," Lucius said.

"If you're worried that he'll bring charges against you for trying to kill him, you need not be," Draco said in a bored tone as he rose to his feet. He didn't intend to listen to his father much longer. He intended to find Harry and learn what he had decided, and what he thought of Draco's decision. "He has already made some sacrifices to ensure that I won't be persecuted for what I did under the curse. He wants me left alone, and that will include my family."

"Perhaps that wish means that you should leave _him_ alone?" Lucius asked, visibly grasping at straws.

Draco paused and gave him a cruel smile. Lucius didn't flinch, but his hold on his cane grew a bit more desperate.

"I choose not to relinquish anyone whom I want and who hasn't specifically asked to be left alone," Draco said. "Harry hasn't asked that. _He_ is constrained by his guilt for not doing something before. But he hasn't refused. I am going to find out if he will."

He left. Lucius didn't shout after him, because he wasn't that undignified.

But Draco knew the choices were good that he would have to face a battle later.

He smiled and shook his head. Compared to the battle he would have to fight with Harry, he doubted that that struggle would be worth recording.


	22. All Doubled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Someone pounded on Harry's door. He started to his feet, swearing. He had spent only a few hours in his room attempting to think, to deal with his memories of the torture and near-rape and murder that Draco had done, and trying to understand why he wanted to excuse them more than anything.

Well, all right, so he knew _why_ he wanted to excuse them. That didn't mean that it was a noble or honorable reason, or one he wanted to admit to himself.

"What?" he shouted. He had thought that Hermione, and Ron if he had come back for the evening, would understand his need to be alone.

The door opened, and Hermione's head appeared around it. She was pale in a way that made Harry wince and regret shouting. He didn't want to hurt his friends any more than he really wanted to blame Draco for what he had done under the curse's influence. It was just hard to think of a way of dealing with—everything.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Hermione began.

"No, I am," Harry said, and smiled at her. "It must be something important, or you wouldn't have knocked like that. What is it?"

"Malfoy is here," Hermione said, eyes so big that they looked like brown suns, and Harry groaned as every burden on his shoulders suddenly became twice as complicated.

*

Draco knocked on the front door of Harry's house again and stood there, waiting with a small smile on his face. Ordinarily, he might have felt humiliated that Harry was making him, a Malfoy, wait, but in this case, he was within the wards that would keep him from the sight of anyone passing by, and the only ones who would know of his potential humiliation were the people inside the house.

Which, granted, could include Harry's friends. But Draco had greater things to worry about when it came to them, such as the Dark curse that he had used on Weasley, than a momentary and fleeting experience of being forced to stand outside.

He had also briefly had the thought that Harry might be hiding from him. Draco had sneered at it the first time it appeared, and banished it to its proper place in the back of his head. He really didn't think that Harry was doing that. If he was, then he deserved to be left behind by Draco, who was ready to face and think about and challenge what lay between them.

Draco snorted a bit at that thought. He wondered how long this reckless confidence would last. He had been sent into near-ecstasy by having challenged his father and walked away, a result he wouldn't have expected before the curse, but he knew a refusal from Harry could dash his good mood as easily.

Then Weasley opened the door, and Draco discovered another thing that could.

His mind filled with a blazing vision of Weasley standing in the lab with his hand on Harry's shoulder, his expression smug as he watched Draco. It was so strong that it actually blotted out the picture of Weasley's face as Draco saw it here and now.

The jealousy took his limbs over and jerked them like a puppet's. Draco knocked Weasley backwards, pressing him against the wall opposite the door, growling under his breath as he held his wand against Weasley's throat.

"Have you touched him?" he hissed.

"Look down, Malfoy," was what Weasley said, his eyes narrowed. Draco felt the pressure of the wand between his ribs then.

Draco knew he should have hesitated, or backed away, especially because Weasley was acting with unusual restraint for an Auror with a grudge against Malfoys. But he couldn't. When he tried to take a breath, the jealousy constricted his chest. He could feel, with the same diamond-edged clarity that that emotion had given him when he was still under the curse, the suspicion cutting into his mind that Weasley had taken Harry to bed the moment Draco was out of the picture.

"I want to know," he said, his vision bursting with images like sunrises, "if you've touched him." His voice was stunningly calm. That would have reassured him more if he could have pulled his hand and his wand away from Weasley's throat.

"We give criminals a warning," Weasley said. He remained steady, too, and Draco knew in the back of his mind--the part that always stayed rational, now, the part that had fully escaped the curse--that Weasley's tranquility was more real than his. He had been trained to handle dangerous Dark wizards. Draco was running off instinct and magic. He still didn't care. "We tell them to put down their wands and surrender. Given that you're important to Harry--God knows why--I'm going to give you the chance to do that, even though you attacked me. You'll back away if you know what's good for you."

Draco was still drunk with rage, and incapable of paying attention to his advice. He didn't even pay that much to the pounding of footsteps that heralded the arrival of Granger in another doorway. She put one hand over her mouth as she stared at them, and then whirled and ran away. It didn't matter. Draco doubted she would go far with her husband, or lover, or whatever he was, in danger, and as long as she didn't, then he could track her down and do what had to be done if she'd slept with Harry.

_Harry._ The lust caused him to shiver, stuck his joints full of ice-tipped needles, and made him sigh all at once. But he had to deal with the threats to his sleeping with Harry before he could actually do it, and therefore, he made himself focus.

"I can't," he whispered. "You know that I can't, where Harry is concerned."

Weasley suddenly looked more interested than frightened, which was not the way, as far as Draco knew, that it was supposed to work. "I had thought he'd mostly cured you," he muttered. "And that it was the curse that was responsible for your Dark and obsessive behavior. Perhaps not? Perhaps it has some other origin, some other means of continuation?"

"Such big words," Draco sneered, but he was watching Weasley carefully now. Someone who could speak like that rather than cower with Draco's wand near their neck was someone who might strike back just when Draco thought he had him properly subdued.

"I wonder," Weasley breathed, "if we should have blamed you for more of what happened than we did. That's it, isn't it? You had us fooled, thinking it was that bloody curse, but it wasn't. Perhaps _Nova Cupiditas_ wasn't the spell cast on you, which would explain why Harry cured it so easily. I never did trust that. I mean, I love Harry, but--"

Draco snarled the first spell that came to mind, the spell that had destroyed several of the Mudbloods in the meadow who had captured Harry.

He wasn't halfway through the spell when someone cast one that knocked his wand free. Draco spun around, his eyes locking on the one who had dared to do that, the one who stood at the head of the stairs with his wand in his hand and his hair flyaway around his head--

Harry.

*

Harry couldn't believe the tableau he saw when he came around the corner. Ron, held captive by Draco? Harry would have thought it more likely to be the other way around, since Ron had reason to dislike Draco because of the curse he'd cast on him.

And then he recognized the glaze in Draco's eyes and the shimmer of rage that practically shone around him, and reacted as he knew he _should_ have done in the past, taking Draco's wand away with a practiced _Expelliarmus._

Draco whipped around to face him, and his demeanor changed at once, remarkably. He smirked, and then began to stalk forwards with fluid, rolling motions of his hips, his eyes so wide that Harry wondered if was trying to fake innocence or simply wasn't able to contain all his emotions.

"Hullo, Harry," he murmured. "You see what being without you does to me?"

Harry held his ground, reminded himself that there was little that Draco could do to him with his wand in Harry's possession and the curse reduced in strength, and answered calmly. "A few days without me shouldn't have done that to you, Draco. In fact, we saw each other not long ago. Why are you acting like this now? What made you lose your mind?" He could see Ron beyond Draco, his wand and one eyebrow raised in question. Harry shook his head furiously. Ron snorted in indignation and probably disbelief, but lowered his wand.

"Coming here did it." Draco looked up at him with eyes that were once again blown, but more rational than they had been when _Nova Cupiditas_ was still at full strength. "Being close to your _friends_ again, knowing that they might be sleeping with you." His lips parted, and he looked as if he would turn around and try to kill Ron again with the sheer force of his stare.

Harry cursed under his breath. He hadn't anticipated this, had no idea why it was happening, and needed Draco near to cast the spells that would let him construct a coherent theory. He held his hand out. "All right, Draco," he said, trying to speak with the serene authority that he would have liked to really feel. "Come here, and we'll see what we can do to repair this."

Draco walked towards him as carefully as though the floor was full of splinters, and willingly grasped Harry's offered hand. His skin burned with heat, Harry noted, and cursed again. He had thought he'd done a better job than this.

"What's happening to me?" Draco asked. His voice was less impassioned than it had been a few seconds ago, Harry noticed at once. He sighed in relief. He didn't want to think about what Ron would have done if Draco had continued as wild as he had been before.

"That's what we're going to try and discover," Harry said soothingly, leading him into the lab. Hermione was on the stairs now, staring at them as if she was trying to figure out what incantation would solve the problem. Draco saw her and at once drew nearer Harry, his grip on him tightening to the point of pain.

Harry caught Hermione's gaze and, very firmly, shook his head. When she opened her mouth to protest, he narrowed his eyes, and she gave in and bowed her head until it looked as though her hair would sweep across her waist.

Harry sighed again. He knew that Hermione was worried about him, the same way Ron was, and didn't want to leave him alone with Draco. But it really was best if he could solve this problem alone.

"I agree," Draco murmured into his ear, and Harry started as he realized that he must have spoken the words aloud. He would have to watch that, he thought. Draco was likely to suffer unless Harry was in control of his every word and action.

Pain touched him and didn't touch him at the thought. Yes, it would be horrible to think that he hadn't done his job right after all, and because he might be responsible for his friends' suffering in the future.

But he couldn't deny that it would be wonderful if he could resume his relationship with Draco on a footing of helpfulness, which would confuse them both less than the kind of bond they had right now.

*

Draco was glad to feel the jealousy clearing from his mind as they came down into the lab. He could think and feel, now, and remember what his original purpose had been in coming to Harry's house. He wanted to find out whether Harry would feel able to date him--fuck him, be with him, Draco wasn't picky about the designation--knowing that some of Draco's actions might be controlled, still, by the curse.

_And now he has graphic proof, and I reckon that I'll have less trouble getting him to commit to a choice,_ Draco thought, allowing himself to be turned around in the middle of the lab so that he was looking into Harry's eyes.

"How often do these emotions come to you?" Harry asked, as if he were a Healer, peering into Draco's face and frowning. He had raised a mask of cool indifference already, Draco saw, amazed. Of course, it probably helped that he would have to deal with Draco as a human being, otherwise. "The jealousy and the lust? Which is stronger? Does anything seem to prompt them?"

"The jealousy, thoughts of you with someone else," Draco said. "I think it was stronger today because I saw someone I thought _could_ have been sleeping with you, rather than thinking about it in the manner of a fantasy."

Harry frowned. "Would it help if I reassured you that I would never sleep with Ron?"

"No," Draco admitted, and caught Harry's wrist before he could pull his hands free of Draco's shoulders. "The things I see in my mind are ridiculous and far-fetched. I know that. But I think the only thing that could combat them is reality."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. You want to speak to Ron and Hermione and hear them testify about how strong their marriage is, about how they'll never want anyone but each other?"

"You don't understand because you choose not to understand," Draco murmured, and shifted closer. "I mean that nothing else will content me but the reality of sleeping with you."

He waited to see what Harry would do with that. He could have leaned forwards and initiated a kiss, but he thought he had done quite enough of that lately. If Harry wanted him, he should _sometimes_ take the lead and say so.

Harry closed his eyes. His breathing was very fast, Draco noted, and his face was very pale. Yet he didn't try to move away, and Draco didn't think that _all_ came from Harry fearing that doing so would unleash another blast of the curse-influenced emotions. "We need to figure out some way around that," Harry murmured. "If they're only strong when you're near me, then staying away from me should do the trick."

"They're _strongest_ near you," Draco corrected, squeezing down on Harry's wrist as a punishment for that particular misconception. "That doesn't mean they're nonexistent elsewhere."

"Oh," Harry said, and his eyes opened. They were so full of distress that Draco would have asked what was wrong, except that, first, he knew perfectly well, and, second, Harry was doing most of this to himself. "Then I don't--Draco, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to do some more research and try to figure out a more permanent cure."

"Yes," Draco agreed, letting go of Harry's wrist so that he could stroke his shoulder. The feel of rough cloth beneath his hand and warm skin beneath that wasn't so different from anyone else's Draco had ever felt, but it made him shudder with pleasure anyway. Most of his feelings towards Harry weren't rational, Draco knew, and the most rational thing to do with that was to admit it and go on. "In the meantime, let me tell you what I've decided. The decision remains the same whether or not you manage to completely cure me."

*

Harry felt a ripple of dread travel through him. For a moment, he was sure that Draco was going to say that they should stay away from each other while Harry did what research he could.

Then he scolded himself for stupidity. Draco already knew they would need nearness for the research to take effect in the first place, and why would he have come here, instead of owling, if he wanted to stay away?

Harry licked his lips, told himself to act like a man and not like the whimpering child he half-felt himself to be, and nodded. "All right. What did you decide?"

Draco smiled. It was the dazzling smile Harry had seen hints of during their confrontation yesterday, but it had a darker undertone, too, which reminded Harry of the way Draco had looked and behaved after Harry had cast the spell that temporarily banished the magical infatuation. His fingers played lightly along the edges of Harry's shoulders, down his neck, along his arms. Harry held himself firm in spite of that, and didn't look away from Draco's face.

"I decided that I can live with the uncertainty," Draco said.

"Huh?" Not his most brilliant moment, Harry thought, but he'd been distracted by Draco's touches.

"I can live with the uncertainty, the fact that the spell controls some of my emotions but not all." Draco was regarding him with calm, patient eyes, leaning back on air now as though Harry was a Potions experiment. Harry hated the desperation that coiled through him. Here he thought he'd been so composed and collected, and now he wanted nothing more than for Draco to continue touching him until they fell into bed because they had no choice. "I cast a spell that allowed me to see _exactly_ how much influence the spell has over me. It's immense, but subtle. It would be impossible for me to question every action and know whether it's coming from the curse or from me, unless I'm feeling an immediate blast of jealousy or lust when I do it."

"Uh." Harry bowed his head and closed his eyes. The desperation still turned in his stomach, but now it had another cause. "Draco--I need to do something else. Something that will give you back your freedom."

"Complete freedom is an illusion," Draco said repressively, crushing his fingers down against Harry's arms. "That's what I've realized, and what I need you to--no, what I came to see if you _can_ realize. I'm influenced by the things my parents taught me, by my pure-blood heritage, by what happened during the war. There's no way you can get past everything that has happened to you during your life, because you _are_ those experiences. I can live with that, with wanting you and not knowing exactly why. Can you?"

Harry swallowed. His throat felt so dry that it was difficult. "Draco," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes, and the expression was comforting and not, at the same time. Harry was trying to remember if he had ever seen Draco look exactly like this, with _exactly_ that expression on his face, so that he could know how much of the real Draco was facing him now, and how much was the Draco under the spell of either his hormones or the curse.

"I know what you're going to say," he said. "You're going to apologize again how horrible and how stupid you are for managing to only cure _half_ of a curse that would have meant instant death for anyone it was cast on, before. And I'm going to stop you, because you're not stupid and I don't want you to act like it. No one I'm attracted to is allowed to be unintelligent."

"I wasn't going to say that," Harry argued, but weakly, because he completely had been. "I was going to say--has it occurred to you that there would never have been an attraction to me in the first place, if the curse hadn't happened? Do you want to be together only because the Seekers of Justice brought us together?"

"Of course not," Draco responded, and Harry's heart leaped and sank at the same time, which was an uncomfortable sensation. "That's why I've made the decision to tolerate the uncertainty. For now. Can you make the same one? Can you make this _your_ choice, or are your hopes and fears always going to get in the way?" He stepped back, drawing his hands away from Harry's body as though he wanted to be sure that Harry made the decision free of his own lust. His eyes were challenging.

Harry took a slow, deep breath. "We probably shouldn't be discussing this," he said. "We should probably get rid of as much of the curse as possible, first."

"If we set a limit," Draco said calmly.

Harry shook his head, unable to stop himself from frowning. "If we set a limit to what? How many times we're going to kiss between the times that I'm working on research?"

Draco laughed. Harry's body reacted unfairly to that laugh. "No," he said. "A limit on how many times you're going to try and remove the curse. The problem with deciding that you'll remove it completely is that it might not be possible, and you'll only blame yourself and convince yourself that it _is_ possible if we don't set a limit. Four tries, I think. You're only allowed to blame yourself four times. After that, if we haven't managed it, then we live with the consequences of the curse the way that I would have lived with scars if I'd mutilated myself."

"This is a bit more serious than _scars_ ," Harry hissed. "You could have killed Ron."

Draco smiled. "Next time, we'll know that. That's the first time we've been around your friends since the curse was halved. We didn't know. But we can prepare and we can make sure that we take the right precautions next time." He shook his head when Harry stared at him. "I don't know what else you want me to do, Harry."

"Why are _you_ the one making all the decisions?" Harry asked. He knew that he sounded mulish, and he couldn't help himself. Draco seemed to be arranging their future together very prettily, except that he'd left Harry out of it.

"Because you don't want to make them," Draco said bluntly. "Because you're afraid, and you'll only hide your head and whinge about hurting me if I don't."

*

Draco wondered if he should smile at the expression on Harry's face, or if that would hurt Harry's feelings. But he had only spoken the truth as he saw it. Harry _would_ dither forever about making important choices if someone didn't force his hand.

And Draco still felt the impatient burn in himself that he had when he departed the Manor. Yes, the jealousy being that strong at the sight of Harry's friends was an unpleasant surprise. But he didn't see why he should give up, stop seeing Harry, and brood in a corner about how things would never get better, so he might as well marry the woman his father wanted him to. He was at least going to _grasp_ at the chances he had along the way.

He also refused to waste time worrying, as Harry wanted him to, about where and why this attraction had entered his life. Yes, with the curse. Yes, he would have been different if the Seekers of Justice had never cast _Nova Cupiditas_ on him.

But he didn't know that things would be better, necessarily. Perhaps he would have married to his father's specifications and been bored the rest of his life. Perhaps the Seekers of Justice would have cast the curse on him later, pointing him towards someone else--someone who couldn't save him. You couldn't know what would happen, which made the yearning for a different past pointless.

He held Harry's eyes and waited, patiently, for him to realize that, too. But Harry stood there worrying his lip and looking so absurd that Draco sighed.

"Two decisions you need to make," he said. "Can you live with the uncertainty? Can you live with only trying four times to solve the curse?"

Harry gave a quick nod, which didn't actually agree to anything, but pressed on before Draco could say anything. "As long as you try to control yourself around Ron, Hermione, and anyone else. I don't want you to curse someone and land in prison."

Draco inclined his head. "You've made sacrifices for me, and I appreciate that," he said, in the purring tone that many people had told him was his most seductive. "I'll do my best. Now. Your decision."

Harry closed his eyes as if he was about to jump off a cliff. Draco wondered if he should make a joke about being as hard as one, and then decided against it.

*

_What am I doing? I might hurt him._

But he already had. Harry could hear the screams Draco had uttered when he suffered under the breaking curse, because of the connections that Harry hadn't noticed in time.

And yet, Draco was willing to give him another chance, and the only thing he needed from Harry was an answer.

Harry felt as if he was jumping into the future, and for a moment, bitterly resented the Seekers of Justice that had made this decision necessary.

_Or is it? Draco could have decided to ignore me for the rest of his life. I could have let him be prosecuted, or at least arrested. I could have decided he was too dangerous to help and left him in St. Mungo's that first day._

Their choices had already been changing and affecting things. If the curse was out of their control, other things might not be.

"Yes," said a voice that didn't sound like his own. "I agree."

Harry jumped.


	23. Unknown Factors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“We need to find a way that I can permanently see the curse. Part of the problem is that it hides itself, and that means I have to keep casting revealing charms. It distracts me from the notes that I could be taking.”

Draco nodded. The stipulation made sense to him. “I presume that this try to find it will take place in your lab?” When Harry nodded back, he leaned nearer and gave him a winsome smile. “Does that mean that I could get a chair in the center of the warded circle?”

He startled Harry into a laugh, at least. Ever since Harry had agreed that he would accept Draco’s decisions, he had looked as grave as though they were once more facing a Dark Lord. Draco wanted to shock him out of that, shake him out of it, make him remember that the situation was less desperate this time.

“You can have one, if you want,” Harry said. “But I’ll have to conjure it myself, since you won’t have your wand.”

Draco paused. Harry hadn’t said anything about _that_ so far. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I mean that I intend to keep your wand until we know that either the curse can be cured completely or we give up.” Harry’s eyes were straightforward to the point that Draco suspected it would be foolish to argue with him. “I don’t want you to hurt my friends, or someone else, or yourself. Your assault on Ron proves that even halved, _Nova Cupiditas_ is stronger than I thought. I’ve already flagellated myself several times over the fact that I could have prevented the torture and murders that you did commit if I’d taken your wand away earlier.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “And if someone comes after me that I need to defend myself from?”

“I’ll be there to defend you from most threats, and Ron and Hermione won’t hurt you if I ask them not to.” Harry sounded absolutely confident about that.

Draco was not nearly so certain. He leaned back in his chair and let the silence stretch between them.

Harry raised one hand as though he was going to begin a lecture, but instead he slid it through his fringe and sighed wearily. Draco felt his body ache from that sigh. He would have done something to make it better if he could have, but the only form of comfort that he had it in his power to offer wasn’t one that Harry would accept right now. So he sat there quiet and waiting while Harry chose his words. Draco had the feeling that he was choosing his words so as not to offend, and Draco had to be grateful for that, at least.

“Haven’t you reflected more on the actions that you performed under the curse?” Harry asked. “I know that you said that you wouldn’t let the Seekers of Justice control you, and that you’ve made the choice to be with me in spite of that. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the curses that you cast on your father and Ron, and on the Seekers of Justice.”

Draco shifted in place. In truth, he had _avoided_ thinking about those curses as much as possible. He knew the attitude of his divided mind concerning them—horror and glee—and he had no wish to revisit that.

“I’m not thinking here about the effects on the people cursed,” Harry went on, raising his head and pinning Draco with a solemn stare. “They know what they are—or did, if they’re dead now. And you could argue that the Seekers of Justice deserved it. But the effects on you…can you be comfortable thinking of yourself as a murderer? A torturer?”

“For you, yes,” Draco said. He knew that the remnants of the curse lingered in the back of his mind, ready to enfold him if he so wanted. He sat upright uncomfortably on his chair and watched as Harry gave him a look of profound pity.

_Not a good beginning to the tries we have to make._

“Not for me,” Harry said. “Think about the way that you’ll live the rest of your life. I know that you can’t go back, exactly, to the man you were, but I think you should meditate more on the effects of your actions than on the sex that you might get to have with me.”

Draco turned away and didn’t respond. He knew why Harry wanted him to think about this. He could see that all his fragile joy in the past few days, which he had thought stemmed from his defiance of his father, might instead come from his need for a mask to keep himself from the horrifying thoughts.

But…

“You’ve freed me from persecution,” he said in a low voice. “And do you suggest that I become like you? Brooding on the wrongs of my past and wishing that I could do something to change them, even as I realize that there’s nothing I can do, and my hopelessness increases my guilt?”

*

Harry winced. Was that what his wishing that things could be different had looked like from the outside? He hadn’t realized.

“Not exactly, Draco,” he said, and then hesitated, wondering what he _did_ mean. This was territory that he had never explored for himself. He had always known that there was nothing he could do to make up for his mistakes in the past, like not trusting Snape, so he had worked through a few years of nightmares and anger and then tried not to think about them anymore. It was the exact opposite of the course he was recommending to Draco.

_On the other hand, I can’t become too distracted by my own issues, either. I have to think about what_ Draco _needs, and if I’m a hypocrite, so be it. Nothing like this ever happened to me in so short a span of time. I always had more time to recover than he did before the next blow came along._

“No,” Harry repeated, as calmly as he could. “You might try to find the rest of the Seekers of Justice, who I’m sure weren’t among the group who captured me, and bring them to true justice. Not abusing them. Not torturing them. That might reassure you that you’re not irrationally violent with a wand in your hand.”

“I already know that,” Draco said, with a glint in his eye that made him resemble the Draco Harry had known in Hogwarts, who would never admit he was wrong and had no interest in thinking over his actions.

“You _don’t_ know that, right now,” Harry said. “You killed without hesitation. But I know that you never would have done that under normal circumstances, not even if they’d taken your parents. That has to go against the grain. That makes you into someone else, and you’ll need some time to come to terms with it.”

Draco scowled and picked at his palm. “And what do you suggest about the curses that I cast on my father and Weasley?”

“Apologize,” Harry said with a slight shrug. He had to admit that he didn’t think either of them would accept an apology, but since he didn’t know what Lucius _would_ accept and Ron had tried to strike back, he didn’t know that Draco’s responsibility went any further than that. “Talk it over with them. You don’t have to be enemies forever.”

“I am not enemies with my father,” Draco said.

“I don’t think that you’re allies right now, either,” Harry said. “Or I don’t think you will be, once he finds out about me. Will you?”

Draco grunted and bowed his head. Harry waited, but he didn’t say anything aloud, so Harry left him to think it over while he turned to his notes. There had to be _some_ reason why the jealousy had suddenly grown so much stronger around Ron. The revealing charm that would let Harry see the curse permanently was a necessary first step, but that was the dilemma Harry was more interested in finding a solution for at the moment.

_Is the lust as strong? I’ll ask Draco._

He cast another glance at Draco, who had his head in his hands by now.

_But later._

*

_Bloody Potter, making me think about all the things that he believes I did wrong._

But Draco had to admit that he couldn’t have evaded them forever. And at least Harry hadn’t decided that he should go back home and face his father right now. Draco didn’t know if he would have the strength to do that. Harry was going to allow Draco to stay the night, to eat with him, to sleep in the same bedroom he had had the last time he was here. He _was_ putting wards around his own bedroom, as he mentioned over dinner.

Draco thought about telling him that he didn’t have to do that, and then the lust seized him around the throat and made him gasp as he thought about the way that Harry would look kneeling at his feet, mouth open for his cock.

“What?” Harry was standing up, staring alertly at him. He must have been watching Draco’s face extremely closely to know when he started to feel the lust, but that made Draco feel no better, at least at the moment. His mind was swimming, and he reached up a hand and began to fumble blindly at the collar of his robes. The only thing he could think about at the moment was getting them off, and Harry had taken his wand away, so he couldn’t remove them with a simple charm.

_Harry will have to prepare us, too._ But Draco didn’t mind that. The mere thought of Harry waving his wand and speaking the soft charm that would coat his fingers with thick-gleaming oil, the way he would touch himself and close his eyes with pleasure as he brought himself closer to the edge—

_But no, I want to be the one that does that._

“Draco!”

Draco’s eyes snapped open. Harry was kneeling in front of him, just the way he’d imagined, but he wasn’t bowing his head, and the look in his eyes wasn’t a mixture of calculation and shy delight, the way Draco had thought it would be. Instead, Harry was clasping his hands and staring earnestly into his eyes.

“I need you to tell me about the lust,” Harry said. “What is it like? Why do you think it struck you just now? Is it weaker or stronger than the other times it’s appeared?”

Draco tried to clear his throat. He tried to think rationally. If he had had a divided mind since Harry halved the curse, he ought to be able to understand himself now and hold himself back.

But the only thing he could think of to say was, “Yes, it’s stronger. I want to fuck you.”

Harry swallowed, as if the announcement of the words had affected him in some unanticipated way. That increased Draco’s curiosity. Did Harry have kinks that he didn’t know about? Perhaps the Seekers of Justice had done him some good after all, binding him to someone who could act in bed in the ways that Draco liked—

The sheer _insanity_ of that thought made the lust puddle up in him and then drain away, and Draco slumped back in his chair, shaking. It felt as though someone had dug fingers into his heart and stirred it around.

“I need you to talk to me.” Harry’s voice was clear, calm, and steady, and Draco reached out and clamped his fingers more tightly down on Harry’s hands. Harry didn’t even wince. “Do you think it’s stronger because you’re in proximity to me?”

Draco shuddered and opened his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. He still couldn’t look at Harry without thinking about fucking him.

Harry sighed. “Then maybe you ought to go home after all. If that would give you some space, some time to think about other things than me and concentrate on coming to terms with what’s happened—”

“No,” Draco said. “I know what will happen if I do that. Your friends will come up with excuses to keep me away from you, and my father will find some way to enforce his will. He might try a Memory Charm, as much as he wants to keep us apart. And you made a promise, if you remember.” He locked eyes with Harry and tried to force him to remember that, assuming that he still wanted to.

Harry looked infinitely reluctant as he nodded. “Yes, I did,” he muttered. “But I still need facts, Draco. Tell me the next time you experience one of those surges, whether it’s lust or jealousy. I need to cast a revealing charm just as it happens.”

Draco let out a soft little sigh. He had won the battle more easily than he had thought he would, and so he could be generous. “I thought you didn’t know which revealing charm would work yet,” he said, as he changed his hold on Harry’s hands to a caressing one, and then to one that helped him back to his feet.

“I don’t,” Harry said. “But I’ve eliminated several that I know won’t work, because they don’t detect the presence of magical states as subtle as the ones that you’re experiencing. I want to try one of the others instead…”

He launched into a theoretical explanation about spell signatures that left most of Draco’s understanding behind, but he didn’t mind. He simply nodded and made admiring noises when appropriate, and watched Harry’s lips move or his eyes spark or the sharp gestures of his hands as they cut through air.

He knew that the curse had taken much from him. But it had also revealed beauties to him that he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

And those beauties would go on existing whether or not he ever found a cure for the half of the curse that clung to him now.

*

“That’s the problem with every suggestion to talk to someone you make.” Draco’s voice was tight with anger. “Who in the world can I talk to about this? Not you, you say. You’re too close. Well, my parents won’t listen to me, and most of the Healers either have some sort of prejudice against me, would want to treat me like an experiment, or would be horrified that I hadn’t been arrested for my violent acts. So whom do you suggest?”

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. He and Draco had been working for the past few hours to try and determine the best candidate for someone who could help Draco sort through his issues. As he had said, the choice was limited.

Harry was determined, though, that it not be him. He _had_ been too close, and he had been the one whom Draco had committed those murders and cast those curses to save. He would be too tempted to excuse them, or go the opposite direction and insist that Draco feel more guilt than was warranted.

_I probably should have beaten myself up more than I did, since I used Unforgivables during the war, but I ran from acknowledgment of that guilt._

Other people hadn’t, though, and a recollection came to mind that made Harry sit up. “Wait a minute,” he said. “There was someone Hermione went to see, someone who makes a specialty of listening to war trauma and helping the survivors deal with the killing or other crimes they may have committed.”

“I wasn’t in a war,” Draco said in a muffled voice. Harry glanced at him and saw that he had his hands over his face. Harry’s heart throbbed in sympathy. Draco could no longer ignore what had happened, what he had done, now that he didn’t have the driving goal of getting Harry’s attention and agreement to his proposition, and Harry thought the emotions were starting to close in on him.

“But you were under a curse, and most people agree that that is its own kind of extenuating circumstance,” Harry said soothingly. “This is someone Hermione visited when she was trying to deal with the fact that she took her parents’ memories of her away so that Voldemort wouldn’t be able to torture them.”

Draco’s face flickered with a few complex expressions before he seemed to settle on simple incredulity. “ _Granger_ did that?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Harry said. Hermione had looked calmer each time he saw her after one of those sessions, though her pale face and the tear-tracks on her cheeks made it obvious that she’d wept. Harry sometimes wondered if he should have tried it himself, but the price Hermione described was not one that he’d wanted to pay. Besides, with his luck, someone would have uncovered his visits and revealed them to the _Prophet._

“I think I like her more now,” Draco said.

Harry frowned at him. “Does that mean that you’ll be able to control the jealousy when you’re around her?”

Draco held up a hand in silent acknowledgment of his point. “You haven’t told me who this person was that she visited. Who?”

“A person named Sanguis-Mentis,” Harry said, watching Draco closely. He only looked blank, and Harry continued, wanting to ease up to Sanguis-Mentis’s nature in his own way. “She said that she was able to draw off some of the pain and make Hermione feel better about what she did. She explained the situations in a calm, logical way. That appealed to Hermione. I don’t know if it would do the same thing for you. I don’t know if she would use the same tactic, for that matter. But it might be worth looking at.”

“What made her able to be so completely logical about a war that involved most of our world?” Draco asked suspiciously. “And if she’s a Muggle, what made Granger able to be so open with her?”

Harry winced. Of course Draco had spotted the weak point in that particular story right away. He wondered if Hermione would have shaken her head in pity and said that she’d told him so if he complained.

“Sanguis-Mentis isn’t human,” Harry admitted. “And not of a race of creatures that traditionally concern themselves with wizards, either, like house-elves. She agreed to help Hermione because of what Hermione paid her.”

“Harry.” Draco’s eyes were narrow. Harry could envision that it would go badly for him if he continued to lie by omission, and yielded.

“Sanguis-Mentis is a kind of vampire,” Harry said. “Or at least, that’s what I call her. Hermione had some long technical name. She’s related to Dementors. But she feeds on despair and emotional anguish instead of happiness, the way they do. She was able to help Hermione because she took some of her trauma away.”

Draco let out a slow breath. His eyes glittered, but Harry didn’t see anger over being partially lied to there, the way he’d expected. Instead, Draco looked amused.

“What?” Harry asked.

“I’m amazed that Granger was willing to resort to such a measure,” Draco murmured. “I would have expected her to suffer through the consequences of what she had done like a good little Gryffindor, instead of getting a magical creature she must think of as evil to take it away.”

Harry smiled. “You don’t know Hermione very well,” he said. “She doesn’t see any value in guilt for its own sake. You do something because of it or you don’t do anything, and in that case, it’s better to take the guilt away. She saw no way of making up for what she’d done during the war.”

“But you mentioned ways that I could,” Draco said. “Searching for the leader of the Seekers of Justice, and apologizing.” He said the last word with the same kind of resigned distaste that Harry would have expected him to show towards picking up a poisonous spider.

Harry blinked. “I did. But—I also assumed that you wouldn’t want to do those things. And you have to get rid of the anguish somehow.”

Draco shook his head. “There are still things I would rather do than trust myself to a cousin of Dementors. Or a vampire. Perhaps someday, if we’ve tried the other methods and they’re not working,” he added, probably because Harry had given him a dubious glance. “But I’ll try these first.”

Harry nodded hesitantly. “Do you think that you might want to speak with Hermione about Sanguis-Mentis, in case you change your mind?”

Draco shook his head and started to respond, but someone moved in the doorway of the drawing room. Harry glanced up just as Ron leaned in.

“Hermione wants to stay here tonight, mate, in case something happens,” Ron said neutrally. He kept his gaze aimed away from Malfoy, as though that would lessen his disgust, but his lip kept curling in spite of himself. Harry smiled back, knowing that Ron really _would_ have preferred it if he and Hermione had been able to simply leave and go back to their own home, where they hadn’t spent nearly enough time the past week.

“Fine,” Harry said. “I assume you’re going home, then?”

“Yeah.” Ron couldn’t help himself then; his eyes flicked sideways at Draco, and Harry found himself looking at Draco in turn.

Draco, who was staring at Ron with an expression more reminiscent of a hungry tiger than anything else, his eyes so bright that Harry thought they would start sparking any moment. Whose hand was closed on the back of the chair as if he would turn that into a missile to throw at Ron. He was muttering something beneath his breath that Harry recognized as a try at a wandless Summoning Charm.

Harry didn’t bother watching Ron’s expression of disdain, or watching Draco anymore once he realized what was going on. He flicked his wand and cast the revealing charm he’d been thinking of, the one that he hoped would mark the subtle changes in Draco’s mind, like the jealousy.

The charm leaped across the distance between him and Draco, sparked, hesitated, and then finally caught and clung to Draco’s shoulders like St. Elmo’s fire. Harry squinted to get the best sense of it, and finally the jealousy, or something that he thought was the jealousy, appeared, entwined around Draco’s shoulders, a dark mist that was shot with sparks of what looked like darting stars.

Harry swallowed. The jealousy was wider than he had expected it to be, simply based on the puzzle pieces that he had seen when he had halved the curse. And he didn’t understand what the sparks meant.

Or the way that it suddenly flared, red joining the black, as Draco turned back to regard Harry with widened eyes and lips that looked as if he’d been biting them. Harry decided it was the lust he was seeing when Draco rose from his chair and proceeded towards him with much the same stalking walk he had shown earlier when he wanted to take Harry to bed. And yes, the look in his eyes was the same.

“Harry,” Draco whispered.

Harry tried to ignore the sensation of disappointment from his body as he studied the lust. It was shot with dark sparks, in turn, also like stars, and then the dark spread out and took over as Ron cleared his throat and said, “No offense, mate, but I don’t really want to watch you two rolling around on the floor.”

“Better him and me than you and him,” Draco snapped, turning around. The darkness writhed and twisted, and the red sparks had faded to the point that Harry had to squint to make them out.

If he was right, and the blackness was the jealousy, while the red was the lust…

Harry swallowed. He didn’t know how or why the way he saw the emotions had changed from the original curse, but he understood enough to know the extent of the problem.

He would try. Of course he would. Besides, Draco had set a limit of four tries that wouldn’t be that hard to pass.

But Harry very much feared now that he wasn’t going to be able to cure Draco.


	24. All Too Divisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Draco woke with a curse. For a moment, he had been dozing so heavily that he had started to slide into a dream, and then the jealousy had stuck spikes into his brain and pulled him back. He had to remember that Weasley might sneak into Harry’s room if he didn’t pay enough attention.

Weasley had gone home for the evening, supposedly. But Draco didn’t trust his words, especially because Harry _did_. Draco had learned, with some grim amusement at the fact, that it was all too easy to fool Harry if he trusted you. Draco had to be the one to look out for Harry in this particular context, since he wouldn’t do it for himself.

Then the jealousy blew away again like the tattered rag that it so often resembled, and Draco buried his head in his hands and breathed until he could feel the calm settling into the pit of his stomach.

_Weasley has a wife whom he seems to love. Why would he do something like that? And I know that Harry wants me. I’ve seen how his eyes shine when he looks at me._

More than that, he knew where the jealousy and the paranoid fantasies that accompanied it came from. But Draco couldn’t help rising to his feet, wrapping a robe around himself, and walking down the corridor towards Harry’s bedroom.

The shimmer of wards would have identified it for him even if he hadn’t known the way. Draco leaned gingerly against the wall outside the limit of what should be the largest ward and peered in.

Harry had tossed off most of his blankets and lay under a single light sheet, his nightshirt also rucked up so that his chest was bare. Draco tried to swallow, but the saliva crowding his mouth made it difficult. He looked at the darker spots that Harry’s nipples made, and then had to look away.

_The sight of him shouldn’t be able to affect me so strongly. Father would say that I’m weak._

The opinion of someone who knew nothing about the situation could be of little value to Draco, though. Instead, he stood there watching Harry sleep, and then he turned away, having seen for himself that Weasley wasn’t in bed with Harry.

Of course he wasn’t, because he was behind Draco, aiming his wand at him. Draco stopped, but did nothing so foolish as put his hands out to catch himself on the walls. That would make him look weak and scared, and that was what Weasley wanted. Draco watched him with a calm, remote gaze instead, and had the satisfaction of hearing Weasley’s teeth grind.

“Look, Malfoy,” Weasley said, his expression saying that he was reluctant to dirty his mouth with the name. _He ought to understand why I call him Weasel, in that case,_ Draco thought, and shifted his weight so that he would be in a good position to dodge curses. “Harry seems to want you here, for some weird reason. _I_ don’t understand it. But you have to know that, if you cross the line and hurt Harry, then it doesn’t matter, I’ll hurt _you_. Harry only sacrificed himself so that you wouldn’t be charged for the crimes you’ve already committed. Do something new, and I’ll arrest you.”

Draco opened his mouth. He expected similarly defiant words to come out; it wasn’t as though he would just stand there and permit Weasley to insult him.

Instead, he found himself laughing. He let that play out to the end, and in the end closed his eyes and shook his head. The weight of Weasley’s incredulous stare was almost worth it.

“You don’t believe me?” Weasley could be shrill when he thought that someone doubted his big manly Auror prowess, evidently.

“No,” Draco said. “I do. But you’re as stupid as I always thought you were if you think arresting me would change anything. Harry sacrificed himself once and did something I know was hard for him. What makes you think that he wouldn’t do it again?”

“Because—because he has no favors left to trade,” Weasley said, and Draco thought he’d been shocked into honesty, just from the tone of his voice. “He can’t ask Kingsley for anything else. Kingsley won’t give it to him.”

“You believe that,” Draco said, opening his eyes and pushing himself off the wall to move towards Weasley. Weasley tensed, and Draco reminded himself that the man _did_ have Auror training, as ineffective as it probably was against someone who knew what they were doing and didn’t react like a brain-dead rabbit.

On the other hand, Draco didn’t have his wand. Perhaps it would be best to preserve the peace after all. He stopped and shook his head. “Harry can call on all the favors that he wants. He might not think of it this way, but the wizarding world owes him a debt that it can never repay, and Shacklebolt knows that. He would do whatever Harry wanted—within reason. And if Harry asked for a continuation of a promise that was already made, especially if you arrested me without Harry’s approval, then I would go free again.”

Weasley’s jaw worked. Then he glanced away. “You’re a danger, even if you’re not a Dark wizard,” he whispered. “You’re not in control of your actions.”

“Perhaps better not to provoke me, then?” Draco asked. “Don’t touch Harry. Don’t make comments about him that indicate you might like to sleep with him.”

Weasley threw him a disgusted glare. “That’s only in the depths of your paranoid and twisted mind.”

“Exactly,” Draco said. “Which is why it oughtn’t to be so hard, assuming that you’re telling the truth. Don’t say you love him. Don’t say you can’t wait to hug him again. Don’t hug him.” His voice grew sharper as he spoke. It wasn’t so hard to imagine Weasley with his arms around Harry. Draco had seen that happen several times in Hogwarts.

_Where you would have thought nothing of it, because what were Harry’s lovers to you then?_

It occurred to Draco that he hadn’t seen Harry with the Weasley girl yet. He would have to make sure she was no competition.

“You’re the one who needs to adapt, not me.” Weasley’s voice was cruel, digging like a knife into Draco’s brain. “You’re the one who’s cursed, and who has unnatural reactions. I don’t need to stop touching Harry. You should control your emotions, or sooner or later he’s going to leave you. Do you really think that he’ll put up with you cursing his best friends and holding us away from him forever?”

Draco winced, stung by the jealousy and by the conviction that Weasley was right at one and the same time. Yes, Harry would grow tired of having his every movement controlled and watched over. Draco had seen that during Hogwarts, when even the professors, who had the right to authority over Harry, couldn’t hold him still.

_I don’t have authority, but I do have a claim. I could ask him if he would stay away from Weasley and Granger for the love of me._

Yet he didn’t know for certain if Harry loved him, either, or if those feelings were more born of pity and the desire to help. Sometimes Draco thought he saw one thing in Harry’s eyes, sometimes the other, but he had never had the full and sincere reaction from Harry that would have quieted his doubts.

“Is this reaching you?” Weasley was moving towards him, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Malfoy. Harry might feel sorry for you, but _you’re_ the one who was cursed. _He’s_ not the one who should change his whole life around because of you, _for_ you. Why should he? He’ll get tired of you eventually, and push you away.”

Draco shut his eyes and swayed. Those words went straight to the center of his deepest fears, and no matter how many times he repeated to himself that Weasley was only trying to get a rise out of him, only trying to make Draco distrust himself and react with fury or run away from Harry in confusion, it didn’t help.

_Because there are things that won’t change. Harry won’t stop seeing his friends for me, no matter how much I ask him to. He’ll accommodate me, but he won’t change everything._

That gave Draco an idea about what he had to do. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Weasley stood there, staring at him, his wand dangling in his fingers as if he had forgotten its existence. Draco reckoned he could understand that. It wasn’t every day that someone got an apology from a Malfoy. He would let Weasley treasure the moment, and hopefully realize that it would never come again.

“After everything you’ve said?” Weasley finally asked, getting his voice back from wherever he’d put it. “After everything you’ve done? What is this apology supposed to be _for_?”

“For cursing you,” Draco said. He felt at peace with himself, and wondered if Harry had been right and offering someone an apology really could cleanse and help the soul. It felt good, at least. “That first night in the lab, when you were touching Harry—” his voice turned savage, and he paused and waited until he thought he could go on in a dignified manner—“and I lost control of myself.”

“Oh, yes,” Weasley said, and his eyes had narrowed. “The incident I’m not allowed to arrest you for, even though anyone using Dark magic should go to Azkaban.”

Draco just met his eyes and didn’t say anything. Weasley was the one who had chosen to bring up Harry’s sacrifice for Draco. He ought to be the one to realize that undoing it wouldn’t be the best move to keep himself in Harry’s good graces.

“Fuck, Malfoy, what do you _expect_ me to say?” Weasley was suddenly aggressive, sweeping a hand through his hair and then leaning closer as if he thought Draco had his wand. “You think that your words are enough to make up for everything?”

“Considering that I was under a curse at the time and that I _still_ have no desire to apologize?” Draco asked. “Yes, I do think that.”

Weasley rolled his eyes. “So you’re doing this because Harry told you to and you want to stay close to him. Excuse me for not taking your words promptly at face value.”

Draco sighed. He was trying to hold onto his patience, and it shouldn’t have been so hard, but he had to remember that he was without his wand and that Weasley was in control of the situation, no matter how much he hated that. “Yes, fine. You don’t have to accept it. But Harry suggested that I find some means to atone for what I’d done, to help myself come to terms with it. I’m doing this for myself and Harry, not you. I’d thought you would have been smart enough to realize _that_ , at least.”

He started to move past Weasley, disgusted by the complete lack of understanding between them. Weasley _had_ to know that no apology would ever emerge from Draco’s lips of his own free will, so why did he act as though apologizing because of Harry was some horrible revelation that Draco should apologize for in turn?

“Wait.”

Draco glanced back over his shoulder. Weasley had his fists clenched, no surprise. Draco moved to the side so that he could be sure his back was to the wall. If it came to a physical fight, then he would first try to take Weasley’s wand from him. He thought he could see a way to do that, even, if Weasley kept his hands in the same position they were.

“You’re not leaving,” Weasley said. “And you’re haunted by the remnants of this curse even now, because Harry couldn’t get rid of it fully.”

Draco held back the sharp words that wanted to rise to his lips, even though Weasley made it sound as though Harry had simply failed because he wasn’t good enough. He knew Weasley hadn’t meant it that way. He waited.

“And you’re jealous when I touch him, but that’s not your fault,” Weasley muttered. “And you apologized. Even if it’s worthless because you never would have done it without Harry to prod you along.”

Draco couldn’t help himself. “Does it always take you this long to reach a simple conclusion, Weasley?”

“Shut up, wanker,” Weasley said, frowning so intensely that Draco was sure it had become more about his own internal thought process than anything anyone outside him said. “I’m getting somewhere, and _maybe_ that’s closer to an acceptance of you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but again, managed to keep silent. He was never really going to like Harry’s friends, he knew that. He was never really going to like their closeness to Harry. But getting them to tolerate him was, frankly, more important. They weren’t the ones who threatened people when a random bout of jealousy took them, either.

He could feel his face flush, thinking about that—with embarrassment this time—and it helped to distract him from the mental disaster that was Weasley fumbling his way along.

“I reckon you’re not going away,” was the next thing Weasley said that he bothered to pay attention to, voice so reluctant that it made the words sound like a threat at first. “Though Merlin alone knows what Harry’s going to do with you, when you’re a danger to him and everyone around him.”

“I’m not a danger to anyone as long as I’m without my wand,” Draco said, and he thought the bitterness behind that must have been too visible, because Weasley snorted and pointed a finger at him.

“But you’d _like_ to be, I know,” he said. “Anything to prevent us from taking our rightful places at Harry’s side.”

“If things were completely normal, I wouldn’t be here at all,” Draco said. “As it is, I’ll live with you being here because I have to.”

“Then go back to being completely normal!” Weasley leaned forwards again, and his voice shifted into the most intelligent tone Draco had ever heard it take. “Seize the chance! Get someone besides Harry to take off the last of the curse, and then walk away and don’t look back! Merlin’s balls, don’t you _want_ to do that? It would make the most sense for you, and it would get you away from us and Harry.”

“I don’t know if anyone can remove this curse,” Draco said, rolling his eyes at Weasley’s naiveté. “Harry is the only one who’s managed to take off even half of it. Why wouldn’t I remain close to him instead?”

“You could look,” Weasley said stubbornly. “You ought to be able to think a _little_ more rationally now that the curse isn’t as strong as it was. Go and look. Leave us alone.”

Draco shook his head. “No. You said it yourself: I’m here, and I’m staying. You’ll have to put up with it. It can’t be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life,” he added, wondering why Weasley was acting like this when Draco knew that he had been a hero in the war. “Hunting for a way to defeat the Dark Lord was harder.”

“Ha!” said Weasley morosely. He straightened, stared at Draco for a moment, and then said, “No sneaking in and trying to rape Harry.”

“That’s why he has those wards,” Draco said. He would have liked to protest that he could never rape Harry now, but he found it easier to tell the truth than a lie.

“Ha,” Weasley said again, eyed Draco as though he might sneak past him and try it anyway, and then walked away.

Draco watched him go. He thought of asking if Weasley had accepted his apology, but he didn’t want to think about the answer.

It did have one effect on _him_ , though. He went back to his bedroom, and for the first time all night, dreamed peacefully.

*

“Sit still, please, Draco.”

Draco looked as if he would like to protest the order, but in the end, he sat down on the chair Harry had conjured for him—as promised—in the center of the warded circle and waited. His hands were folded in his lap, and the world’s best bored expression was on his face. Harry found that he had to keep more of his attention on the curse than on Draco, or he would have burst out laughing.

Not that that was hard, not when he really _focused_ on the curse. It was fluctuating back and forth right now, between the black cloud with sparks of red that meant jealousy and the red cloud with sparks of black that meant lust. Draco hadn’t expressed either towards him this morning, unless snatched glances counted, so Harry thought this was what the stable state looked like. The relatively stable state, at least. The clouds never remained the same color for the same length of time, and the sparks of the contrary color came and went. The only things he thought were constant were the interlinked nature of those emotions, as shown by the flecks of one present in the other, and the way they “moved,” pulsing in and out like the breathing of a great beast.

“I don’t understand why it changes like this,” Harry muttered to himself, and cast another revealing charm. As he had thought it would do, it failed. Most of the time, trying to add a second revealing charm on top of a successful one did that.

“Like what?” Draco leaned forwards, looking interested for the first time all morning. “Those star-clouds you mentioned before? It looks like that now?”

Harry nodded, deciding that it wouldn’t be a problem if he involved Draco that much. “Yes. But why? Is this a natural stage in the evolution of the curse, once someone manages to hurt it, or has halving it done something entirely new?”

“Just remember that this counts as one of your four tries.”

Harry looked up sharply. Draco’s voice was deep, his eyes were glittering, but the cloud around his shoulders still only held flecks of red. It wasn’t the lust, Harry judged. It was Draco feeling ordinary desire for him.

_He wouldn’t be feeling that, either, in the first place, if not for the Seekers of Justice and their curses._

Harry winced. He had to keep the guilt out of his work, though, or he would do nothing but think about that all day long.

“I know,” he said, in answer to Draco, and then stepped around behind him, on the other side of the circle, to see if the curse looked different from that direction. No. Draco craned his head to watch Harry go, but made no objection to him standing there, which Harry had half-thought he would do. An experience like _Nova Cupiditas_ would make anyone paranoid.

“I apologized to Weasley this morning,” Draco announced.

Harry blinked and turned his head to look at him. Perhaps he should have stayed focused on curing the curse even now, but it wasn’t every day that Draco could make an announcement like _that_. “What? When?”

“While you were still asleep,” Draco said. “He found me standing outside the wards of your room, and threatened me a bit. I remembered that I didn’t have a wand, and he did say a few things about eventually accepting my presence in your life. So I apologized. I thought he was about to have a heart attack.” From Draco’s satisfied expression, that wouldn’t have been the worst possible result.

“I’m—glad,” Harry said, though the simple words didn’t begin to express the depths of his astonishment. “I’m glad that you can get along,” he added, since Draco cocked his head and seemed to expect more from him. “Do you feel better now?”

Draco shrugged. “I slept peacefully after that, so maybe apologizing to Weasleys has some hitherto-unknown tranquilizing property.”

“Not like you would have known it before this,” Harry muttered at him, and won a quick grin before he cast another revealing charm.

The star-clouds flickered wildly around Draco’s shoulders, and Harry took a step closer to the wards despite the fact that that brought his nose right up to them and he’d been trying to remain at a decent distance for Draco’s sake. If this revealing charm caused the curse to vanish after he’d spent so much time trying to see it—

But no. Instead, the charm combined with the first one in the way that Harry had been trying to do for hours and had begun to believe he wouldn’t get, linking with it and opening another “field” of vision around Draco’s shoulders.

Harry caught his breath. _Yes_ , he could see it now. The clouds twined out reaching tendrils that locked into place behind Draco’s neck. Harry could see how they joined, and the way the tendrils were lazily climbing Draco’s face towards his ears, the place where the lust-crown had been locked into his brain in the original curse.

_They’re not there yet._ Harry swallowed. _We’ll have to move quickly to make sure that they don’t put Draco back under the original curse, or at least regrow the lust to the point where he can’t think coherently._

This time, though, he would cast every spell he could think of at the connection, so that it wouldn’t split the way it had last time and leave Draco in devastating pain. Harry took a step away from the circle, intending to fetch his notebooks.

And saw something else, something previously invisible from the angle he’d been standing at.

The black and red tendrils of the clouds were twined around Draco’s throat, too, looking like some sort of bizarre necklace resting above the pulse point. They didn’t sink into the skin and thus show that they had latched on and Draco was once more under _Nova Cupiditas_ , thank God, but they formed a big, ugly knot that Harry knew he would have to cut.

He thought he understood what he was seeing, now. When he had sliced the curse in half, he had sliced the shapes that haunted Draco’s head and shoulders in half, too, and this was the pattern that lay underneath them. Doubled, restored to full strength, the curse would resume the shapes he had learned so painstakingly.

That was worthwhile knowledge, at least. Harry wasn’t entirely certain how he was going to use it, yet, but at least he had it.

Then, because he remembered the disaster that had happened last time when he acted too quickly, he took a closer look, and ended up shutting his eyes.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was sharp. “You can’t stand there looking as if you’re going to faint without telling me what you saw.”

Harry managed to swallow, and poured his attention forcibly back to the knot. “Some of the strands around you are red, and some are black,” he said dully. “For lust and jealousy. And some of the strands are both red _and_ black. The two emotions run into each other. I don’t know—I thought I could pull them apart, but I don’t know how I can. Not like this. I’d probably cause you the same kind of pain I did last time.”

“No, thank you,” Draco said quickly. He paused, and then added, “I have faith that you’ll succeed, if that’s what you need.”

Harry winced again. It was hard to look at Draco’s face right now, knowing that he had so much more belief in Harry than Harry did in himself—

And knowing that the faith came from the curse, at least partially. What would happen if Harry did free him from it?

_That still has to be your priority,_ Harry reminded himself. _His freedom is worth more than his compelled bond to you._

_And if you lose him because you dissipate the curse, then you never had him in the first place._


	25. Five Times Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

“You don’t know if this is going to work.”

“I don’t know if anything is going to work.” Harry spoke quietly, his eyes on his hands, as if the way they picked up his spoon and the spoon dipped into the porridge was endlessly fascinating. “But yes, you could say that I’m especially uncertain about this one.” He swallowed, and Draco could clearly hear the click of his throat in the silent kitchen.

“Only try it if you want to.” Draco tried to keep the accusation out of his voice. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. From the way Harry hunched his shoulders, he probably didn’t.

Draco attempted to turn back to his own breakfast, but it was difficult. Harry had tried once, yesterday, to cut the knot that he described as winding about Draco’s throat and containing both lust and jealousy. Draco had felt a twanging string separate in his brain, but Harry had shaken his head, and Draco’s yearning to launch himself at Harry and drown him with desire hadn’t lessened at all. Worse, Harry had refused to keep trying, and he had also refused to let Draco comfort him the way Draco had assumed would automatically happen if he gave up. He had turned his back and slouched morosely into his books.

Draco was growing impatient for __something__ to happen. It could be Harry defeating the curse or admitting that was impossible and deciding to live with the uncertainty the way Draco had, but either way, it needed to happen, and soon.

“Why are you uncertain about this one?” Draco asked, for the lack of anything else to do.

Harry cleared his throat with what sounded like a startled noise, as though he wondered why Draco was asking the question. But he said, “Because it depends on me being very quick, very precise. I have to make sure that I cut the knot at two points at once. I think I can do it, but I want to practice first.”

That sounded reasonable, but Draco wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. “You didn’t manage that last time,” he said. “What makes you think that you will this time?”

Harry pushed his chair back from the table with a scraping noise and carried his bowl to the sink to wash up. Draco watched him, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, staring at Harry’s back and quietly willing him to turn around. Harry refused.

Just as he refused to touch Draco the way he wanted. Just as he refused to admit reality, which was that none of them could ever know __exactly__ what they were feeling and they had to live with that.

Draco ground his teeth as his impatience flared through him. It didn’t felt like the lust or jealousy did, nowhere near as uncontrollable, but it was powerful and burning. He reached for his glass of pumpkin juice and drank from it, swallowing with more emphasis than necessary. It would be nice if Harry heard him and turned around.

But because Draco wanted it to, of course it didn’t happen. Harry just went on scrubbing dishes, as though it was the most important thing in the world.

A footfall sounded behind Draco before he could make up his mind to confront Harry. He turned around, and saw Granger standing there, peering doubtfully into the kitchen as though she wasn’t sure she could come in. That hesitancy satisfied Draco enough to nod a gracious permission back.

Granger rolled her eyes, possibly because she knew the nod had been a gesture of permission, and then walked in. “Harry,” she said. “I found something on a curse that resembles __Nova Cupiditas__ in one of the books you let me take from the Black library. I think it’s worth your taking a look at.” She glanced at Draco from the corner of her eye and sniffed once. “You too, I suppose, Malfoy.”

Draco snorted at her in return, but stood up, because Harry was already turning eagerly towards her. Anything that kept him from having to deal with Draco, Draco thought, and make an actual __decision__. God forbid that he should have to do that.

He faced Granger, and the jealousy surged up in him and tried to strangle him with the longing to strangle __her__. His muscles bulged, and he had to swallow and look away. From the expression in her eyes before he turned his face away, she had seen what he was struggling with and thought it ridiculous.

But Draco hadn’t asked for her opinion. He looked at Harry, but Harry had his back to him.

“I’ll be grateful for any help at this point,” he was telling Granger as they began to move down the corridor. Draco had thought for a moment that Granger had the book at her house and that was where they were going, but she probably didn’t want him in her home, and he didn’t blame her. He walked with his eyes on the floor and tried to calm the emotions that flickered back and forth in him.

“It’s baffling,” Harry went on, and his voice was thick and twisted with what sounded like self-hatred. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Harry loathed himself for the simplest and silliest of reasons, sometimes. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought it was halved, and now it seems as though it’s growing back. I thought I could cut it, and it had no effect at all.”

__And it counted as your first try,__ Draco thought, but he had the sense to keep his tongue behind his teeth for right now. He wanted to listen to Harry’s conversation with Granger. It was always possible that he would learn something he didn’t know right now about Harry, and that would give him a clue on how to make Harry do something. Behave well enough, and they might forget about him altogether.

Well, at least Harry might, Draco amended, as Granger glanced back at him and then pointedly ignored him, in the way that said she was still keeping watch on him from the corner of her eye. But he would take Harry doing so over too much attention at this point.

“I’m not surprised that you’ve never seen anything like it before,” Granger said, her voice calm. “After all, __Nova Cupiditas__ almost has to be a unique combination of circumstances and magic, or someone would have figured out a way to cure it long before this. But the spell I found could give you a good idea of its similarities to others, and its weak points. Perhaps,” she added, with more honesty than tact.

Harry just grimaced and shook his head, and Draco had to clench his teeth against a flare of mingled jealousy and lust that made his limbs shake. Why was Harry paying attention to someone else if he was that hopeless? He should be working night and day. And he should be letting Draco kiss him, touch him, fuck him as much as Draco wanted, at least if Harry believed that there really was no solution.

“Well, anyway,” Granger said, and she was looking back and forth between them with a wise expression on her face that Draco didn’t like at all, “you can take a look at the book and see what you think.”

She led them into the library, a room where Draco had barely spent any time; for one thing, it seemed to be Granger’s territory, and for another, Harry apparently kept most of the books and notes he needed immediate access to in his lab. Granger bent down to the book that lay open on a chair and leafed through it. Draco couldn’t help snorting, loudly. The least she could have done was leave it open to the page they needed, so that they could reach it the moment they wanted it.

Granger glanced at him, undoubtedly hearing his silent scorn, but chose not to make an issue of it, instead finally finding the page she wanted and holding the tome up to Harry. Her hands shook with supporting its weight; the leather binding it was so old that it looked like bark, and it was stuffed with several thousand pages. “In here.”

Harry began to read. Draco moved to the side so that he could keep an eye on the page but even more of an eye on Harry’s and Granger’s hands, to make sure that they never brushed.

He hated that he had to react that way, but he did, and he was growing more and more desperate for an ending to it in one way or another. Perhaps that advice about seeking someone else out to do the research was more kindly meant than Draco had thought.

*

Harry could feel Draco’s smoldering presence beside him, and he winced each time he thought about it. He __wanted__ to help Draco, of course he did. But he didn’t see how he could when Draco kept urging him on so fast that Harry knew he would make mistakes. Technically, one of his tries was already past.

__Making decisions like the ones he wanted me to make is a bitch, sometimes,__ Harry decided, and went back to reading the passage that Hermione had pointed out to him.

It was about a spell called the Soul-Binding Curse, which tied together two people who didn’t love each other and let them see the utmost depths of each other’s souls. They would inevitably learn the secrets their “partner” in the magic hadn’t revealed even to close friends; they would gain the power to destroy someone else with a word. Harry shuddered. __Nova Cupiditas__ was worse, but he could see why Hermione had thought this was similar.

He had reached the end of the passage before he saw the area that Hermione had marked with heavy underlining.

__There is no more feared feature of the Soul-Binding Curse than the way that it feeds on itself. The hurt, anger, and fear caused by its effects echo back and forth from partner to partner in the spell, gaining depth and resonance as they travel. By the time one cycle reaches its end and the spell relaxes its hold for a brief time, both partners have grown considerably more stressed than before—which of course increases the effects of the stress and prepares the next cycle for still greater ruthlessness._ _

Harry read it twice to be sure that he wasn’t missing anything, and then glanced up at Hermione with a frown. She watched him with breathless lips, her hands clasped in front of her as if she was going to wring a rope apart.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “This can’t be the similarity that you mentioned, because the curse wasn’t cast on me.”

“I think this is something about __Nova Cupiditas__ that no one has discovered before,” Hermione said, and pushed past him to pick up another book that she’d left lying on a chair. “I’ve been reading about the historical cases. In most situations, the person the victim was cursed to desire hated them back, resisted them, hurt them, and abandoned them—when they didn’t kill them.”

“I know that,” Harry said. He’d learned it in his own research.

“And the victims’ efforts to subdue and rape them became more desperate in consequence,” Hermione said. She spoke the word “rape” without a flinch, though with a sideways nervous glance at Draco that Harry thought she couldn’t control. “On the other hand, in the cases where the object of their desire sympathized with the victims and helped them, the way you did, the victims were more hopeful and had better control. That didn’t entirely matter in the end, of course.”

Harry blinked. “You’re saying that the emotions I feel influence the way Draco feels?”

Hermione bobbed her head. “It’s the only reason for its growing back that makes sense, I think. If you had gone on disliking Malfoy and also helping him, then the lust and jealousy would have withered because they couldn’t sense a corresponding desire in you. But you __do__ like him. And you’re upset that you can’t cure him. So the lust and jealousy are growing again. The curse is limited in the emotions that it can express, since you did damage it. But I think the false love—which isn’t a normal part of most cases that I’ve read about—happened in the first part because you started liking Malfoy as a person as well as desiring him.”

Harry flinched. “So this __is__ my fault,” he said.

“Of course that’s it,” Draco said. His voice was low and vicious, and Harry turned towards him with a start. Draco was staring at him as if he would like to tear Harry’s throat out; his hands opened and closed restlessly, and Harry had never been gladder that he’d taken Draco’s wand away. “Of course you would make this all about you, instead of, for once, thinking about what I need.”

“I’m thinking about what you need,” Harry said, turning so that he could put his body between Hermione and danger. He could see Draco attacking her just to get to him, and he didn’t want that to happen. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t be investigating the spell if I wasn’t.”

Draco sneered at him. “You’re __hopeless.__ You don’t think the cure will work. But you don’t want to give up, either. You just want to shake your head and go on working in gloom. In the meantime, you want me. I know you do. Granger gave me the final clue, but I knew it before then, in the back of my mind. My lust is reacting to your desire. This wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t want me—”

Harry bowed his head. “I know. That’s what I meant when I said it was my fault—”

“Will you __listen__ for once?” Draco chopped one hand down sharply. “I don’t mind that you want me. I mind that you __won’t act on it.__ You still sit there and dither back and forth and say that you can’t be sure my feelings are real.”

“You can’t, either,” Harry said. “And now that we know more about this, how can we be sure that you ever felt any lust for me at all, rather than just a reflection of the curse or my own desires?”

“Then cure me,” Draco said, sounding as though he was speaking through choking exasperation. “And we can see.”

“I don’t know how yet!” Harry yelled. “And I’m afraid that I might hurt you again if I try to go too fast!”

“That’s a risk that I’m willing to take.” Draco prowled closer, his body tensed. Harry realized that he, himself, was flushed with something more than shame and anger, and had to fight not to close his eyes in humiliation. How he __hated__ this. “You utter idiot. Of course I don’t want to suffer again, but this is causing me more suffering than the pain of the broken curse did!”

Harry winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he said, which was utterly true. He would have liked the discovery about the curse better if he didn’t think it made him responsible for Draco’s emotions, he thought.

“I want you to __stop apologizing,__ ” Draco said. “I want you to take whatever information Granger can offer you, and work to cure me, and then we’ll see what happens next. Or you can fuck me now.” His eyes shone. He didn’t quite smile, but Harry could see the temptation to do so tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I can’t do that,” Harry said, despite the way that his body jumped at the thought.

Draco laughed breathlessly, and if he sounded choked again, Harry knew it wasn’t with exasperation. “Of course not. Even though you want to so much I can taste it.”

“Those are—wrong desires,” Harry said. “Deviant.” He was almost babbling at that point. He was trying to fight his arousal, stop feeling ashamed of it, and stay calm all at once. He didn’t want to feel things that would trigger lust or jealousy in Draco.

Draco turned away with a snort and stalked out of the room. Harry wanted to stand there looking after him, but he knew it would only waste time. At least one part of Draco’s rant had struck home. It was time to end the stalemate between them in one way or another.

“Well?” he asked Hermione. “I presume that the Soul-Binding Curse has a cure, and that you think I can adapt that to cure Draco?”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered with what looked like discomfort. She had to clear her throat a time or two herself before she could continue. “Yes. Um. The cure is for both partners to reach a state of absolute calm—there are various ways to do that—so that the resonance of emotions between them lapses into stillness. Then the person the curse was originally cast on has to renounce the bond between them.”

Harry clenched his hands. “That would mean that Draco would have to renounce it.”

“Maybe not,” Hermione said, although her eyes were pained. “We could come up with a variation of the spell that would mean you could.”

Harry nodded at once. He knew it was the only way. If he did really want Draco, then he had to be able to give him his freedom. That would show that he __meant__ it, and that he wasn’t so flattered by the thought of someone being dependent on him that he couldn’t give it up.

Besides, even if Draco managed to renounce him, Harry would never know if he had done it because his will was strong or because the link that the curse had forged between them meant Draco could feel Harry’s desire for it to be done.

And what he was most tired of was the uncertainty.

“Let’s do it,” he said, and bent over the book. Hermione, beaming, bent beside him.

*

“I’m ready, Draco.”

Draco turned around. He had expected the announcement; he hadn’t felt any alternations of lust and jealousy in the last few hours, which he thought now meant that Harry was calm and wasn’t feeling such churning emotions that Draco had no choice but to react to him.

He had spent the time sitting with his eyes closed, sorting through his feelings and trying to understand them. He felt impatience and disgust towards Harry right along with the lust and longing, yes, and the deeper, stronger feelings that Harry might hesitate to call love. But what made those emotions more legitimate than any other? One could argue that he felt __all__ of those emotions in response to what Harry was feeling at the time, so the Draco he had been, the one who loathed Harry, only existed as a reflection of Harry’s expectations right now.

The Seekers of Justice had violated his integrity even more deeply than he realized.

It took his breath away with fear and fury, and he had gone on feeling that way until he realized that there was no way around it. If he was right about how deep the curse had gone and what it had done to him—and the spell he had cast on himself that showed the influence on his brain suggested he was—then he would have to live with the damage.

He could ignore it, he could despise it, he could decide that he was going to live as his own person the way he had when he came back to Harry, but he couldn’t change it.

_There are some things there’s no recovery from_.

He was thinking of what Lucius would say to that, and whether he would agree—Draco doubted it, since his father never wanted to think that there was something in the world that he couldn’t control—when Harry entered the kitchen and made his announcement. Draco turned around with a bland expression on his face. He didn’t know if he was welcoming, but then, he hadn’t particularly tried to be.

Granger hovered near the doorframe while Harry leaned forwards and stared into Draco’s eyes. Draco looked back, reflecting idly that he had never noticed before this how deep a green Harry’s eyes were.

“We have to become calm,” Harry whispered. “There’s a spell I can cast that will get us to that state. Do you trust me to cast it?”

“What a stupid question,” Draco whispered back, his tone not stinging because of the languid dreaminess that had overtaken him. “Would I be standing here and letting you cast spells on me if I didn’t trust you?”

“Perhaps I’m not the person best-suited to answer that,” Harry said, with a small grimace and shake of his head. Draco tensed as his eyes focused on Harry’s lips and the lust dried his mouth out. Harry seemed to realize his mistake and raised his wand. “ _Lente._ ”

Draco took a deep breath as the spell reached into his brain and flooded his thoughts with shining tendrils of tranquility. When he closed his eyes, he could see the flickers of purple and green dancing on the back of his eyelids. He had had this spell cast on him when he was younger, and it always produced that same effect. It was quicker and more effective than a Calming Draught, which only touched the body. This reached into the mind.

Harry reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Draco heard a second whisper of the spell, presumably repeated on himself.

“It makes sense now,” Harry whispered then. “Maybe it won’t be the ultimate cure, since I know _Nova Cupiditas_ is different from the Soul-Binding Curse. But it makes sense. Everything I’ve done since I first learned you were a victim of the Seekers of Justice has bound us closer together. I needed to do research, and I needed you in the house while I did it. I stayed calm when you kissed me, and while that kept you docile at first, it also meant that you decided I liked it and gave you hope—and that got me addicted. You became more insistent when I got more agitated, like when I was trying to get you to stop killing and torture. You calmed down when I calmed down. I’ve made excuses to see you since then. I didn’t _need_ to speak with you face-to-face when I wanted to tell you about the promise that I made to Kingsley in return for your immunity from prosecution.”

“I appreciated that you did,” Draco said, because he didn’t want Harry thinking that he could simply dispense with that. He opened one eye and glared as hard as he could, so that Harry wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

Harry blinked at him and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded. The slow beat of his heart was in Draco’s ears. He reached out and laid his hand on Harry’s chest to feel it better. For some reason, it didn’t change. For some reason, that disappointed Draco.

“I once thought the cure would be for me to fall in love with you,” Harry whispered. “Answering your false love with my true one. Isn’t that mad? It wouldn’t have made the love that the curse had given you any less false.” His voice turned sad. “As it is, I think I should have realized _this_ particular truth a long time ago.”

“Harry.” Granger’s voice was anxious, and distant.

Draco didn’t have to listen to her if he didn’t want to, and he chose not to. He focused on Harry’s voice instead, and the slow beat of that heart beneath his hand, and the way that Harry took several deep breaths before he said, “I wanted you near. I can admit that now. I thought I wouldn’t be attracted to you, but I was, and I liked the way you depended on me. And I wanted to maintain that connection during the natural time for you to walk away from me.”

Draco shook his head. He knew that was wrong, but not why. His tongue and his common sense were all tangled up.

Harry leaned forwards. Draco forced his eyes open and found that Harry’s face was hovering a scant inch away from his.

“I can let you go,” Harry whispered.

“Stronger!” Granger urged from somewhere far away.

“I can renounce you,” Harry continued.

“Stronger!”

“I don’t know if I love you, but it’s bloody close to that.”

“Stronger!”

Harry’s hand rose through thick water, in slow motion. Draco watched it in wonder and dread, or at least the muted version of those emotions that was all he could feel when he was caught somewhere behind that screen the calming spell provided.

“I _do_ renounce you,” Harry whispered. “Be free.”

A whirlwind took Draco.


	26. Twice the Misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

The whirlwind blew through Draco’s mind, its winds razored. Every time Draco thought it might begin to fade, the winds scraped another chunk of his mind off, and then tore that chunk to smaller and smaller pieces while they enfolded it.

Draco was gasping in pain. He knew someone was holding him up, but the sensation came and went, buried under the flood of agony from the inside of his skull.

Certain things were true. Certain things he had accepted without thinking about them, because he _knew_ they were true and saw no point in questioning them.

But this renunciation uprooted them again. The curse was torn loose, and flew about waving dark tendrils. The assurance that Draco had come to feel about Harry’s feelings for him, whether or not Harry ever got around to expressing them, was gone, and the chunks became smaller than hailstones, and then froze and shattered. The idea that he could go on leaning on Harry, relying on Harry, although his father might scowl and disown him, was so much blown snow in the storm.

The spell was gone. Draco was certain of that. But what was left to replace it, fill his mind with thought and his heart with emotion?

Nothing.

He sobbed, but the sound was dry and tearless. He didn’t know what he would have wept about if he could have. _Everything_ was gone. When the storm blew out, the emotions that were left fell back to the floor of his mind as dust.

What else could they do? What else could it have _been_ like? Of course Draco was going to lose everything that Harry had stirred or inspired in him, and of course the curse was going to turn out to be connected to more things than Harry thought it was.

The storm was gone now. Draco lay there, aching, and gradually became aware that the hands from before were stroking his shoulders, and a voice was calling his name. He forced his dull eyes open and saw Harry bending over him, his own eyes so wide that Draco was surprised his thoughts didn’t fall out of them as tears.

“Draco?” Harry whispered. He sounded broken.

A single, bleeding fissure ripped itself through Draco’s numbness, and he remembered what Harry had done that forced the release of the storm. He struck out instinctively, one fist flying up and colliding with Harry’s face.

Harry staggered back, his hands clapped to his broken nose. Granger, whom Draco had almost forgotten, started to yelp something, but Harry shifted and put his body in between whatever spell it was and Draco.

Draco hardly cared. He fought his way to his feet, and faced Harry. Harry actually dropped his hands as he stared back, and the soft flow of blood from his nose made a background noise to the words that Draco spoke.

“You still think that you can control my life. You’re doing what they did, what my father wants to do. You’re trying to dictate my actions.”

Harry shook his head. “I was trying to give you your choices back,” he said, in the strange sort of hollow voice that someone with a broken nose inevitably had. “I’m sorry if it didn’t work out the way you thought it would, but—”

There it was again, that self-serving apology, that load of bollocks about the thing Harry wanted to do being the right thing that Draco _hated._ He flew at Harry, slamming him against the wall, hitting the back of his skull so hard that Harry’s eyes crossed and he seemed about to faint. Draco squeezed hard on his shoulders, pulling him back into consciousness, demanding his attention.

Granger again tried to cast something. Draco seized Harry’s wand, dangling limp in his hand, and raised a barrier against whatever her spell had been. Then he tossed the wand away. He didn’t need that to hurt Harry. He didn’t _want_ that to hurt Harry.

His words would be enough, as long as he put Harry in a position where it would be impossible for him to speak back and justify himself.

“You tore my mind apart, just now,” he said in a low voice that he knew wouldn’t conceal what he felt—whatever that was. So many emotions were trying to resurrect themselves from the cinders that he didn’t know what would come next, what strange and fantastic growths they would take. “You don’t care any longer. You never did. You only wanted to be sure that _you_ weren’t responsible for hurting me. If you had cared, then you would have admitted that your love was real, even if mine wasn’t, and you would have fucked me.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Draco released one shoulder to slam his palm across it. No. Harry had talked too much. Draco was the one who would get to talk now.

“There was _no going back_ , once that curse happened,” Draco said. “Things _had_ to change. Why is it that I understood that better than you did, when I was the victim and you were the pure and noble researcher trying to help me?” His voice had stabilized by now. He sounded calm and almost casual. Draco liked that sound. He thought it would make Harry realize, later, what a fuck-up he had been.

Harry shook his head. His eyes were wide, and _did_ have tears leaking from them, now, but that wasn’t enough, and Draco went on.

“I wanted to sleep with you. You could have honored my decision. I wanted to be with you. You could have honored _that_ decision. But instead you pretended that every feeling I had was because of the curse, or at least suspect because of the curse, and that meant I didn’t get to decide.

“You utter _fuck_ , don’t you realize that’s not going to _change_?” Draco was snarling now, the fury sweeping through him, exploding like a red flower out of the dust and who knew what seed it contained. “You’re _always_ going to suspect what I feel, even if I say that I want to snog you! Oh, that can’t be real, it’s just a result of the experiences we had during the curse, or an expression of thankfulness, or something. If I declare that I want to leave, then you’ll let me go, and not accept that I might change my mind tomorrow. You’ll always suspect me changing my mind, even if I just become indifferent to you! Oh, it could have been more, or it’s supposed to be more than that; I’m supposed to hate you. But if I did that and made the hatred the center of my life, that’s still the curse affecting me without my knowing it. If I hate someone else for sleeping with you, that can’t be natural jealousy, it _must_ be cursed jealousy. The Seekers of Justice didn’t want to allow me autonomy at all. You claim to want that, but you’ll keep saying that I’m not free no matter what, _unless I act exactly like the little shit you always thought I was._ And what’s the freedom in _that_?”

Harry’s eyes were wide. Draco let him go and stepped away. He was breathing hard, not sure what would happen next, and aware of Granger, outside the barrier, squeaking in outrage and waving her wand around…

But he still felt better than he had.

*

Harry held his nose, examined the blood on his fingers, and now and then glanced back at Draco, wondering what he should be looking for.

Most of what Draco said was true. But Harry couldn’t see why it mattered so passionately to him. What _should_ matter was what the curse seemed to be gone, or muted to the point that Harry couldn’t see anything but a dull smolder around Draco’s head and neck. And he wasn’t responding to Harry’s emotions anymore, either, because his anger had flared up while Harry was still pretty calm from the spell he’d cast.

It was—he was free again. And Harry, though he was swallowing hard with the pain that cut at him, couldn’t imagine that Draco would really want to change things back again.

“Well? Answer me!”

Draco was staring at him, and apparently he _did_ want an answer to the last of his outburst, which Harry had assumed was full of rhetorical questions. He swallowed and went to pick up his wand, using it to cast _Episkey_ on his nose. Draco didn’t flinch when Harry picked it up, which seemed to indicate that he still trusted him. But he waited, with his eyes on Harry’s face full of accusations and questions.

Harry shook his head a little. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “I never meant to do that, but I obviously did. And I do think that you’d have to be mad to stay with me when it was the curse that made you want to do so.”

Draco laughed. He laughed for a long time, leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut as though he couldn’t bear to look at Harry anymore. Harry swallowed and glanced from him to Hermione. She still stood behind the protective barrier that Draco had somehow raised in a few seconds with Harry’s wand, her hands spread wide and her eyes frustrated. It was obvious that she wanted to break through the barrier and come to him, and as obvious that she had no idea how.

Harry decided that he would let her stay there for a moment. It was petty of him, perhaps, but he thought she would interfere, and he needed to say this just right, without interruption, so he could convince Draco.

“Your feelings were under the dominion of the curse for several days,” he said, carefully picking his words. “The more time that passes since then, the more free you’ll feel. But yes, I do think it would be a bad idea for you to try to stay around me and—be with me.” He had to swallow when he said those words, but Draco still had his eyes half-closed, and Harry didn’t think he would notice. “You can find someone else you didn’t know during the curse. You can have an honest love affair with them.”

“Why wouldn’t a love affair with you be honest?” Draco’s voice was pure, detached interest and nothing else. Harry found it hard to deal with, after listening to his anger. He wished that Draco would pick one emotion and stay with it consistently.

On the other hand, wouldn’t that be demanding that Draco more or less alter his emotions to suit Harry, which he had already accused Harry of wanting?

Harry didn’t know. He was lost in a dark tunnel, far from the light, and he wished that someone would advise him. He instinctively glanced at Hermione, and then remembered his resolution to do this for himself and turned back to Draco. Draco was watching him this time.

“Because we could never be _sure_ ,” Harry said. “What if it’s just physical attraction and shared danger, and then it fades?”

Draco gave a chuckle, a dark, inward sound. For some reason, Harry expected him to pull away from the wall and walk out the door after that, and Harry wondered how he would stand it. But he had to let Draco go.

He had always known that. It had just taken him some time to work up to it.

“You sound as though that would be horrible,” Draco said. “As if the only kind of love affair you’d value is one that lasts forever. As if one that ends—and which could end for other reasons, mind you; we’re different people and come from different worlds—is inherently worthless.”

Harry swallowed. He was always making these kinds of mistakes, it seemed, ones he didn’t notice but Draco did. It was another proof that they weren’t the best-suited to each other, or at least he thought so.

“You don’t deserve to be subjected to that,” he said. “Not with what you’ve already been subjected to.”

“I see,” Draco said. “The only people you can make the recipients of your romantic attentions are the ones that have never had a curse like this cast on them. The unbroken. The innocent. The _naïve._ ” His voice dripped with such contempt on the last words that Harry could practically feel the emotion hit him across the face like a spray of saliva.

“No!” Harry snapped. “It’s not—”

He stopped, shaking his head. Why was he trying to argue with Draco? They had already both made their choices. He should just be happy that the renunciation had worked and the curse appeared to be weakened or gone.

He should be. But he wasn’t.

He waved his wand, ending the barrier spell. Hermione came rushing forwards at once, first to anxiously check his fixed nose, and second to turn a threatening stare on Draco. “I suggest you leave right now, Malfoy,” she said.

“Wait,” Harry said, and cast the revealing charm that had shown him the flickering clouds of lust and jealousy. They continued to show him nothing but the same dull smolder as before. He nodded. “You might want to come back in a few days,” he told Draco. “That way, I can check that the curse isn’t growing back again.”

Draco smiled humorlessly at him. “I doubt that it will. Nothing could survive the kind of pain that tore through my mind.” Harry winced, but Draco went on without waiting for an answer. “Nevertheless, I will come back. Because we have too much to settle to make this the only conversation we have.”

“Why do you have to _say_ things like that?” Hermione implored, but Harry couldn’t tell whether she was speaking mostly to Draco or mostly to him. “Harry did the best he could to help you, and you’re throwing it back in his face!”

Draco paused, his eyes distant and pitiless. Harry tensed, ready to jump in front of Hermione if he had to, but Draco just stared over her head and appeared to muster his words instead of attacking.

“Yes, I am,” Draco said. “Because I don’t think he realizes his own motives for helping me.”

“I got attracted to you,” Harry said. He made his voice as harsh as he could. If Draco could just be turned away from him forever, then Harry thought it would be better for the both of them in the long run. He _had_ to believe that, or he thought it quite possible that he would start crying and never stop. “It was lust on my part, and the happiness that I feel when I’m saving anyone. It wasn’t _you_ specifically. It was never you.”

Draco responded to Hermione as if Harry wasn’t there, serene, except for the tightening lines around his eyes. “You see, your precious _Harry_ likes to suffer. He likes to tell himself there are things he can never have, when he could have them if he stretched out his hand. If I’d had all his power after the war and wanted a normal life, I would have carved one out for myself. But he couldn’t, because to enjoy something would make him feel too guilty. So he went on acting like the tormented saint they all expected him to act, and withdrew, and he helped me because he thought of it as one more way to punish himself. Oh, yes, he has sympathy and compassion, I’ll grant you that.” Hermione had opened her mouth, but she closed it again without speaking. Harry stared at her, and then at Draco. “But it’s secondary to his need to suffer. This is the perfect kind of love affair for him, one that hurts. And now that it’s done, he’ll wallow in the pain instead of trying to move on.”

“We can’t do any _moving on_ ,” Harry snapped. “How could we ever be sure that you were really feeling something for me and not reacting to my attempts to help you? How could we ever be sure that I really felt something for you and wasn’t reacting to the chance to help you? You just accused me of that!”

Draco smiled faintly at him. “But you can never know that about anyone,” he said. “Not really, even if you’re a Legilimens. You’d have to take my word for it that I love you if we’d met under more normal circumstances. And you might wake up sometimes in the night and doubt. You probably would, knowing you, because that would cause you the most pain,” he added meditatively. “You don’t believe that you _deserve_ to have a relationship that’s not painful, do you?”

“Go the fuck away.” Hermione loomed up as though she would put herself between Harry and Draco’s words. “He did what he promised he would, and cured you. It’s something no one’s ever done. You have the chance to live your life now. Can’t you be grateful to him for that, and shut up, and _go away_?”

“No,” Draco said. “Because he doesn’t get to choose to just end it. You don’t get to choose. You weren’t involved except in the last step.” He kept his eyes on Harry. “I’ll go away for right now. I need to rest, and I need to think. And I need to accept that the man I want to be with is a royal idiot. If I stay here, then I might become bitter enough not to accept it.”

“You don’t need to.” Harry’s voice sounded duller to his ears than it should. “You can make any choice you want.”

“Including this one?” Draco raised his eyebrows.

“I—you need to consider that you might be unduly influenced by what you went through, and give it some time—” Harry said, because what else _could_ he say? Draco could be fooling himself, and just because Harry wanted this to happen wasn’t enough reason for it to actually do so.

Draco turned to Hermione instead of him. “And this is another example of what he does when he’s uncomfortable because something he wants might actually be about to happen,” he told Hermione. “I _do_ think that I might be spared that.” He turned to Harry. “If you keep insisting that this is the case, then yes, I’ll leave. But not without making you feel what you’re losing.”

Harry shook his head. He had run out of words. He wanted Draco to be happy. He also wanted him to only be with someone he had honest feelings for. If those two things came into conflict, then he didn’t know what he’d do.

Of course, that kind of painful uncertainty seemed to be something he would have to live with.

_But I already decided that I wouldn’t be able to live with it when it was a case of Draco telling me that he wanted me to._

*

Draco rolled his eyes. How idiotic that he, the one with the torn mind and the radically changed perspective on his own life and emotions, should be the one expected to offer comfort to Harry. Granger should have been the proper candidate for that, but she only stood there, looking back and forth between the two of them with a blank expression on her face.

And, to be just, Draco thought, she probably hadn’t done such a good job of it in the past, or Harry wouldn’t _still_ be acting like this. His friends had probably told him that his useless sorrow was noble one too many times.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I may still want you. I’m still going to come back. If you don’t want me, or think that I’ll be happier with someone else, _you have to tell me._ You don’t get to dither around and wait for me to make the decision. I know exactly why you’re doing that, and that tactic doesn’t work on me.”

Harry stared at him in perplexity. “What do you mean?”

_The world,_ Draco thought, _would be a much better place if someone had ever forced Harry Potter to really know himself._

“If I make the decision,” he said, “then you have someone to blame if you don’t like it. You can sigh and wonder what it would have been like between us, without having to confront the messy, stinking _reality_ of it. If you made the decision, you’d have to accept that it might not be perfect, that it might end, that you might have done something irrevocable and wrong.” He moved close enough that he could see the nervous light in Harry’s eyes. He was putting on a good show of bravado, but it was there, behind the show. “You’d have to accept that hurting someone isn’t unforgivable, and that someone you hurt might still want to spend time around you.”

“I know that,” Harry said, but his voice was weak. Then he coughed, cleared his throat, and tried to go on more strongly. “If I’m that pathetic, why do you want to be with me?”

“Another finely-honed defensive tactic,” Draco told Granger. She hadn’t cursed him so far, only looked at him in puzzlement, so he thought he was on the right track. “He acts like he’s equally stupid and low all the time. Either he’ll drive someone away and then he can enjoy luxuriating in his pain, or he’ll receive the coddling and sympathy that he thinks is second-best. I’m not going to play those games.”

He glanced at Harry, who was pale enough that Draco thought he might faint in a moment. “See you later,” he said sweetly, and walked out.

When he got out of Harry’s house, he paused a moment before he Apparated, closing his eyes. Did he feel up to a confrontation with his father at the moment, which he knew would happen the second he got back to the Manor?

_No,_ he decided, and Apparated to the same small house where he had taken Harry after their encounter with the Seekers of Justice. He stretched out on the bed, kicked off his boots, and was asleep almost instantly.

It was the sleep of the just.

*

Harry had to sit down, because he felt breathless, and it didn’t help that he had Hermione hovering in front of him, her eyes so wide with worry that he thought _she_ might faint, too.

He was thinking about what Draco had said. Thinking about it, instead of dismissing it at once because, obviously, everything Draco said and thought had come from the curse.

Harry hadn’t realized how much he was relying on that defense until it wasn’t available to him any longer.

He put his hands over his face and took deep, steady breaths. He knew that some of the things Draco said were true: that he thought the worst if he failed to help someone else, that he accused himself, that he acted like a martyr too much for the comfort of his friends.

But the rest—especially that he cared more for his own pain than for what both of them wanted, because getting what he wanted was too scary for him and it was easier to distrust someone else’s motivation than accept that they might _help_ him get what he wanted…

He didn’t want that to be true of him.

And though Draco hadn’t gone that far, Harry could trace the connection to Lucius Malfoy and the Seekers of Justice. They, too, hadn’t cared about what Draco wanted, and had pushed their own wills forwards without a pause.

Harry gulped air. He still knew, with one part of him, that he couldn’t just give in and go along. That would be another case of letting Draco make all the decisions and having someone to blame if they went wrong.

He would have to choose.

He made a soft, hesitant vow to himself that he hoped could weather the blast of criticism Draco would inevitably bring to it.

_I’ll try._

 


	27. Split Three Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Draco stood at the window of his house and idly watched the enchanted image he had chosen for it cycle through its manifestations. First a full moon shone over a pine forest; then the moon waned and set; then the sun rose over the same forest, only now it had turned into a tossing sea that had the same deep greens in the waves that the trees had carried in their needles. The waves faded, fell, and died, and the same cycle repeated, only this time the sun set in splendor so that the full moon could sail out of the rippling red and gold.

Draco tapped his fingers on the sill. He had chosen that image because he liked the way it represented the same beauties coming around again and again. When people mourned and babbled about how quickly beautiful things died, Draco could turn to the image and realize that not _everything_ died. He reckoned it was his version of his father's own obsession with permanence and immortality, the obsession that Draco believed he had really begun following the Dark Lord for, far more than for the promise of a world free of Mudbloods.

_And I would never have been this introspective before the curse._

Draco let a faint smile curl his mouth, come, and go. No, he might never have been this introspective, but he also didn't think that the curse had brought him anything new, beyond confusion and desire for Harry. It had merely awakened what had always been there, the way that the sunset revealed the stars that had always been in the sky.

Even the feelings for Harry might have developed in time. He would never know because the Seekers of Justice had cursed him instead of leaving him alone to see if the feelings would grow. But he refused to spend as much time worrying about their origins as he sensed Harry would have liked him to.

_I'm not him. He's not me. That's one of the reasons that we'll make such a strong and permanent match._

Then Draco lifted one shoulder in a shrug, irritated at the direction his own thoughts were taking. Even if it wasn't permanent, he still thought it would result in some pretty bloody intense fucking and satisfaction, and that was the important thing right now.

But there were other, less important things that still had to be settled first. Draco turned away from the window and crossed the room to open the door on the far side, the one that pointed most in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

He had certain misconceptions, and preconceptions, to speak to his father about. That conversation might actually be less successful than the one with Harry. Draco had complained about Harry's masochism, but it had helped in the sense that Harry had mostly stood there and taken Draco's words before he started to argue back, because he believed, deep down, that he deserved the blame and the pain Draco was laboring to lay on him.

Lucius would not believe that, and would not be so silent.

Draco felt a thin, confident smile lift the corners of his lips nonetheless as he stepped out of the house. He had been through a hell that most people would never experience. He had fought, and won. (With help, it was true, but Harry could never have succeeded in the first place if Draco hadn't fought the feelings produced by the curse, and then fought for Harry to reconsider instead of slinking quietly away. Do that, and the curse would simply have grown back without anyone to notice it). He was wiser than he had been a month ago, more adult, more wary.

And less inclined to accept a load of bollocks from anyone, even his father.

Draco spun in place and Apparated.

*

"I think you're well off without him, mate." Ron spoke through a mouthful of potatoes, gesturing wildly with the hand that held his wand. Harry winced and prepared to duck if he had to. Ron had been holding onto his wand ever since dinner began, as if he thought Draco would leap out of the dessert at him. "Why would you _want_ him back, anyway? After the kinds of things that Hermione told me he said to you?"

Harry ate his own potatoes and didn't answer. The fact was that, while his friends could listen and sympathize, he wasn't sure that either of them could help him.

Not everything Draco said could be true, surely. Not all the time. How had Harry ever kept a friend or lover for longer than a month if it was?

But he did have to admit that he was a lot more comfortable thinking of Draco as someone unattainable than someone he might be able to fancy and have fancy him back. There was something to be said for keeping him at a safe distance. And yet, Harry didn't know _why_. Why should having him come closer be so terrifying?

_I still fear hurting him._

Into his mind, then, came Draco's retort about how Harry had never learned that hurting someone wasn't unforgivable. Or at least it didn't have to be, which Draco hadn't said but which Harry could extrapolate from his words well enough.

_If I hurt him, he might still want me. He might accept an apology rather than some enormous sacrifice to put things right again. He might want to get along with me like someone normal rather than holding me up to another standard just because I once saved the world.  
_  
Harry's face burned, and he had to take a hasty drink of water, because the thought was ridiculous. When had Draco _ever_ treated him like someone special because of his fame? That trait, at least, was consistent between his old and new selves, or his personality when Harry had first known him and his personality under the curse. Harry could even look on it as a sign that the curse was really gone, the things that Draco had said to him once he was free of it.

Harry shoveled more food into his mouth and stared at the candle in the center of the table. He thought Hermione had lit it to make the room more cheerful, to fill it with light and flame and the soft smoke that had the smell of cinnamon. At the moment, Harry thought of it as a fire that was burning in his mind and destroying the thoughts that had come before, the stupid and unbelievable ones about Draco wanting to walk away from him and never look back.

Because he saw now that they _were_ stupid and unbelievable, whatever he thought of the source of Draco's feelings.

_I couldn't let him go when I did believe that I'd got rid of the curse forever by halving it. Experiences like those do bond people. Maybe not permanently, but I was stupid to think that we would be able to part as if nothing had ever happened._

Harry frowned and dug his fork viciously into his plate. Yes, that part might be right, but that didn't mean he had to accept Draco's words at absolute face value. He was still worried about the curse, especially since Draco didn't seem to be.

_Why couldn't we have a friendship, an intense one maybe, instead of fucking? It's not inevitable that we should have to, when the curse gave Draco that idea in the first place. He can claim otherwise all he likes, but I_ know _that he would never have looked at me like that if not for the curse._

Harry sighed, then, as another thought drifted across his mind, hazy as the smoke but as real.

_Yeah, he could accept that, maybe, with the passage of time. But I couldn't._

He'd thought too much of Draco's hands on his skin, _felt_ too much of it, to accept a friendship at face value. He couldn't do it honestly, and Draco seemed to want honesty from him. And courage. And real compassion, rather than the kind that would let Harry wallow in the thought of what a nice person he was and what kind of service he was offering to Draco.

He ate another mouthful of potatoes, half-aware that his friends were exchanging exasperated glances over his head. Well, he knew that he wasn't providing good dinner conversation, but they had to know why he was like this, and for once, Harry decided that he would think as long as he needed to, without beating himself up about it and deciding that he couldn't because other people needed his attention.

_This is so fucked-up. Any relationship that we'll get out of this is bound to be fucked-up. We'll argue all the time._

That, too, was true. Harry sighed into his food.

And then he paused, blinking. A new thought had come to him, one that he hadn't had before. It sounded almost as if it had been spoken in Draco's voice. Did that mean that he was beginning to see things as Draco saw them?

_Does that matter? I could always end the relationship if it was too much._

Harry was shaken enough that he had to push back his plate, stand up from the table with a muttered apology to his friends, and rush into another room where he could pace back and forth, thinking about what he had just decided.

He had literally never thought that he could end a relationship first, at least not without making it the other person's decision as much as it was his own. He had always been so afraid of hurting someone that he had flinched, despite all the growing up he had done or thought he'd done about the war and his profession, away from watching the devastation on someone else's face.

At the same time, he had never questioned the right of anyone else to walk away from him if that was what they wanted or needed.

Harry touched a shaky hand to his forehead and his hair. If he had suddenly awakened with a different face, he wouldn't have been surprised, because surely only that could have sparked this blazing feeling of _newness_ inside him. But no, same old worn scar, same old drooping eyelids. He frowned and shook his head.

_Why did I treat myself so differently from anyone else? When did I start thinking my perspective and feelings didn't matter?_

He didn't know, but he did know that it would have to stop, and that it was the first solid step he had made towards agreeing with Draco.

Maybe, in time, he would even stop feeling so tentative and ridiculous about it.

*

"You say that the curse is gone this time. Why should I trust your words any more than I did at first?"

Lucius sat facing the fire with his back to Draco. Draco studied the dove-grey material of the chair for a long moment before he answered. He _could not_ afford to lose his temper with his father. It would be too easy for Lucius to then dismiss Draco as a spoiled little boy who threw temper tantrums until he got something he wanted.

"You need not trust me, any more than you trust gravity," Draco said at last. "When you see that a certain thing is real, then you must live with it. I live with the unchangeability of the past and the sudden closeness I gained with Harry because I must. You'll learn to live with them the same way."

As he had hoped might happen, those casual words brought Lucius out of his seat and made him wheel around, eyes flaring and hands clenched at his sides. "You _will not_ speak to me in such a manner," he hissed.

Draco smiled blandly back at him, heart hammering with excitement. He had made Lucius lose his temper instead, and he was unlikely to regain it, with the turn that the conversation would take now.

"Why not? It's not as though you can do anything to me now." Draco began to move slowly to the right, not taking his eyes off his father. He wanted to be sure that he wasn't near anything especially flammable if Lucius lashed out with a spell, and his father sometimes favored fire spells when he was angry. "I've grown beyond you. I have my own independent fortune, even though I've never spent it. I don't have to marry to gain your approval, when that approval is less important to me than my relationship with another. And I have a source of income available to me that I did not have before."

His father squinted at him. "What is that?"

Draco kept his eye on Lucius's fingers, which played over the head of his cane. He knew certain dangerous movements they could make, and wanted to make sure that he didn't miss any of them. "Why, letting the Healers from St. Mungo's study me to see how to get rid of the curse completely. Particularly with Harry's help to see the spell signatures, they might be able to analyze how to Heal _Nova Cupiditas_ in others." He arched his brows. "I would charge them each Galleons for the privilege, of course."

His father looked as if he might have apoplexy at the mere mention of this. His fingers clenched on the cane hard enough to make it dig a furrow in the carpet this time, and he gurgled. When he loosened the clutch of the fury on his throat, he spluttered, "Are you--Draco, you _must_ be mad. I shall look into having you declared dangerous and subject to confinement."

Draco laughed softly at him. This was an even better reaction than he had hoped for. "Why is that?"

"No Malfoy in his right mind would agree to serve as an experimental _animal_ for Healers," Lucius said, his lip curling. "You would rather die than do such a thing if you were sane. Perhaps Potter has cursed you to feel that a relationship with him and the lingering effects of the spell are a good thing, and that is why you are acting so against your character." The mere notion seemed to comfort him, since he was standing up and his face was losing its dangerous color. "Yes, that is what must have happened," he added, sounding as if he was talking to himself.

Draco waited for a moment, curious to feel the effects of his father's declaration on his emotions. If the curse was not completely gone, then he thought he would feel the urge to lunge at him and defend Harry's honor.

Nothing happened, though, except an increase in his weary contempt that felt entirely natural. Draco lifted his head and eyed Lucius back until his coming smile faded.

"You want me to do the same thing," Draco said softly, "except as a breeding and not an experimental animal. What am I to you at the moment but someone who can breed you grandchildren? And you would see _them_ , in turn, only as a continuation of the Malfoy line, not as individuals in themselves."

Lucius shook his head. He looked perplexed now. "You are more important than that, Draco. Of course you are. You are my son."

"But you still value me as the continuation of the line," Draco repeated. "Because I wish to make a different decision, you see that as a betrayal."

Lucius extended one finger to point at him. Draco eyed it warily, but Lucius didn't hold his wand in that hand, so he decided that he didn't have to worry about flames flying towards him in the next few seconds. "That I am willing to see you as my son at all after the way you cursed me argues for a large and healthy tolerance on my part."

Draco controlled his impulse to laugh and nodded earnestly instead. "Yes," he said. "And I am sorry for that."

His father stared at him in astonishment that just increased Draco's hilarity. _The best part about apologizing,_ he thought, _is how much it startles people._

"You--mean that," his father said, after a pause in which he seemed to have rolled the apology around in his mouth to see how it would taste.

Draco nodded. "But that doesn't mean that I'll give in and do as you want," he said. "Perhaps I'll marry someday. If the curse has taught me anything, it's that I can't predict the future. But I don't want to marry right now, and I won't do it merely to have children. I will be with Harry instead."

Lucius closed his eyes, but his face was expressive enough to show Draco the complicated mixture of distaste and confusion he was feeling. "Why should that be what you want?" he murmured. "I hardly think that he has treated you the way a Malfoy should be treated."

"It's what I want," Draco said, thinking about the intensity with which the curse had bound him to Harry for a time, and the way he had tortured and killed--willingly--for him. That was still something he wouldn't have done if he had a choice, but the fact that it had happened bound them close. It would take something equally strong to sever the bond. Harry not appreciating him once the curse was gone would do the trick, but Draco didn't yet know if that was going to happen. _Deciding to live with uncertainty has all sorts of benefits._ "Perhaps someday it won't be. Right now, it is."

"Surely that should be enough."

For a moment, Draco thought he had spoken those words himself. Then he realized that his mother had come into the room behind him and was standing still there, her eyes bright but her face composed.

Lucius gave her a more betrayed look than he had given Draco. "You agree with this--this madness, then?"

"Not all of it," Narcissa said, moving forwards to stand slightly behind Draco. Draco turned so that he could keep both his parents under observation at once. So far, his mother didn't _seem_ threatening, but her support was so unexpected that he didn't know whether it was a mask for something else. "I will undoubtedly think that Draco should give Mr. Potter fewer chances than he will. But this is something that our son wants, and it is hard to see how it could work out to his disadvantage politically. That means he should have it."

Draco contented himself with showing his gratitude by a single bright smile in his mother's direction. Narcissa nodded back, and then glanced at Lucius, who stood staring between them as if both his hands had suddenly refused to do something he wanted them to.

_Remember that he lives through you,_ Draco told himself. _It's understandable that he would be upset that his dreams for you aren't working out._

Understandable, but not worrying enough for Draco to let it control the whole of his life. He merely waited, and after some time, his father shifted and glanced away, a sneer working across the corners of his mouth.

"I will postpone the notion of marriage for now," he said. "Believe that I will be awaiting the collapse of your _relationship_ with Potter eagerly."

Draco smiled. He didn't care that his father's concession probably had more to do with his mother's support than Draco's own arguments. Now that he had said something like that, it would be doubly hard for him to take it back.

"Thank you, Father," Draco said, with a very elegant and correct bow, and then turned away and walked towards the dining room. He could use a meal, he thought, to refresh him and prepare him for the battle with Harry he fully expected to have either later today or tomorrow.

"Draco."

Draco paused and glanced back. Lucius had decided, this time, that he should lock one hand into place on his cane and one on the back of his chair. His glare had intensified as a result.

"I will not tolerate him hurting you forever," he said coldly. "If you wish to protect your _lover_ , warn him that he should learn to treat you better soon."

Draco knew that his smile matched his father's glare for coldness and intensity. "I intend to teach him that lesson myself, Father. Don't worry."

*

"But with Malfoy, mate."

Ron just left the sentence there. He didn't need to say more, Harry thought wryly, especially when Hermione's emphatic nodding was doing the talking for both of them. Harry had told them that he intended to try and be with Draco, and both of his friends had been disappointed, although Hermione seemed less surprised than Ron.

"He cursed me," Ron said logically. "He tortured and killed other people. He tried to rape you. And you _still_ want to be with him?"

"Yes," Harry said, although he found himself instinctively avoiding Ron's eyes. It did sound awful, when it was put like that.

But Harry didn't see any way that he could think _only_ about those facts without turning into the martyr that Draco had accused him of being again. How to make up for the murders and the torture? How to make up to Ron for the fact that Draco had hurt him? A few days ago, those questions would have obsessed Harry the moment he took his mind away from the pressing matter of what he was going to do about the curse.

But...

Draco had apologized to Ron. The Seekers of Justice had been people who had cursed Draco and would probably have killed Harry, if they hadn't simply laid _Nova Cupiditas_ on him in turn. And surely it was up to Harry if he wanted to forgive Draco for his actions under the curse, which, yes, had included attempted rape.

Harry shifted in his seat. It was still strange, this idea of a _limit_ to guilt--strange both because it was so alien to the way that he would normally think and act, and because he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought that way before.

Why _had_ he drowned himself in guilt and decided that he was so different from other people? Why had he thought that he couldn't be happy if it meant that one other person might be miserable?

The only answer he could come up with was that he had been so worried he would do something _wrong_ otherwise. And that wasn't good enough. Among other things, it meant that he didn't trust other people to say when they thought something he did was wrong, or to defend themselves.

His ethics and some of his fundamental ideas didn't always work. He would have to adapt them if he wanted Draco.

And he did.

"I just don't _understand_ ," Ron said plaintively, rescuing the conversation from silence.

"I do," Hermione said, breaking silence at last. Harry thought it had probably only lasted so long because she couldn't choose which of the thoughts that crowded through her head to voice. "I know that intense emotions can bond people. It can feel as though they can't live without each other after they've been through a war, or a cave-in, or a sojourn in a prison cell. But Harry...it's one thing to read about that in fiction, and another to base your life on it."

Harry took a deep breath. "I know. But if it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. I want to try at least."

Hermione blinked. "We don't want to see you get hurt," she said, but she was looking thoughtful.

"I'm going to be anyway," Harry said, smiling at her. "Whether I try to let Draco go or to be with him. This is painful. It started with _Nova Cupiditas._ There's no other way for it to be. I want to try the route that at least promises some happiness."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Yes, I can understand now."

Ron sighed explosively. "I reckon I can, too," he said. "But _Malfoy_?"

"That's the way it is," Harry said firmly, "so that's the way it has to be."

_I just hope that I can remember that, later._


	28. In Four-Quarters Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry licked his lips nervously as he began the firecall to Malfoy Manor. He wasn't sure their Floos would still be open to him, or that Draco would answer if they were. He cringed when he thought about either of the Malfoy parents appearing.

So he winced outright when Narcissa Malfoy's face hovered in the flames, not the less regal for being mostly green.

"Um, Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked, winced again at the elaborate politeness of his tone because it sounded so false, and did his best to sound relaxed and simple without actually sounding simple-minded. "This is Harry Potter. I wanted to speak to your son, if he was home."

Narcissa studied him in silence for some time, then inclined her head. "Yes, he is," she said. She hadn't smiled yet, but she hadn't cursed him either, so Harry reckoned that was a good sign. "We had expected an owl from you, but a firecall is as well. I shall have a house-elf fetch him." She turned her head briefly aside, presumably to say something to the elf.

Harry told himself that he hadn't _really_ expected her to go get Draco herself, which would have given him a brief break to gather his senses, and rubbed his palms on the legs of his trousers, hoping that she wouldn't notice. Nor did she appear to. Instead, Narcissa knelt there in silent grace, watching him with bright, tranquil eyes. She didn't smile, no, but neither did she seem upset.

"Um," Harry said at last, and promptly wished he could take his wand to his own temple. "Does this mean that you've accepted what's going on between me and Draco, Mrs. Malfoy?" _Or is Draco going to come down and tell me that he's getting married and this attempt to be together is off?_

The deep devastation, black and threatening, that filled him at that thought convinced Harry more than ever that he was doing the right thing with his attempt.

Mrs. Malfoy bestowed a chilly smile on him, at last. "His father would have opposed it," she said simply. "It is not what we wished for our son, of course."

"Er, I know," Harry said, still clinging to hope because of the word _would_. That suggested Lucius hadn't actually opposed it.

"But Draco did remind us that reality does not always correspond to our wishes." Narcissa settled herself more comfortably on the floor, her robes spread around her like skirts. "In a more gracious manner than I had expected, given the nature of his father's opposition. We must therefore learn to accept his choices as graciously, or risk looking ill-bred."

_Potentially the worst of fates, for a Malfoy,_ Harry thought, and hoped that his smile wasn't too ill-bred. "That's wonderful," he said, and then, because the silence she exuded seemed to wait to be filled and he wasn't as comfortable with her as with Draco, he said, "I really do think that I'm in love with him, Mrs. Malfoy."

"How nice of you to admit that to my mother first and not to me," said an icy voice from beyond her.

Harry winced. _Shit._ He was forever doing something wrong, and he suffered a brief spasm of doubt that this was going to work, despite all his good intentions, despite all that Draco had declared the other day about not intending to let him back away.

Then he shook his head. It would work because of both their determination. They would tear each other apart, maybe, but it had gone too far for them to just walk away and hope that that would be enough.

"Sorry," he said, craning his head back in the hopes that that would let him see Draco over Narcissa. "I didn't see you standing there."

*

"I really do think that I'm in love with him, Mrs. Malfoy."

It wasn't that Draco didn't stop when the words came to him, and that he didn't feel a mixture of smugness and triumph washing through him like blended spices. It was the fact that Harry had said that as a secondary confession instead of to _him_ , first.

_Still afraid of actually facing his feelings, isn't he?_

"How nice of you to admit that to my mother first and not to me," he said, and stepped around his mother, who gave way to him with a faint, amused smile, so Harry could see him. From the startled way Harry's head jerked up, he really had had no idea that Draco had been there.

Which only made it more wrong that he had chosen his feelings, of all things, for the topic of casual conversation with Draco's _mother_.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "I didn't see you standing there."

"I know," Draco said, and took his mother's place, staring at Harry as he hovered in the fire. He felt emotions wash over him once more, the complicated mixture of lust, exasperation, hatred, anger, and pleasure that he had felt in smaller portions over the last day, as he thought of Harry instead of seeing him. "I doubt you would have said it if you did."

Harry's nostrils flared, and he bowed his head like a bull about to charge. Draco paused. He hadn't got that particular reaction before when he said things that were far more scathing.

"I've been thinking about this," Harry said, softly, intensely. Draco noted from the corner of his eye that his mother had left the room, as she should have, but he couldn't look away from Harry's gaze. "I don't want to just roll over and show my belly when you accuse me. Some of this I'm guilty of, but not all of it."

Draco folded his arms. The emotions in his stomach turned to a thick, rolling ball. "Really?" he breathed. "You think that you deserve to get away with the self-justifying shite you have so far?"

"I did say that some of your accusations were right." Harry's stare was immovable. "But I won't always agree that you were right and cower in fear of your disapproval. If you think you'll control the relationship that way, then I'm going to deprive you of that illusion right now."

Draco ran his tongue over his lips. "Why don't you tell me what else is going to happen," he asked, "since you seem so confident?"

"I'm going to check to make sure that the curse is gone," Harry said firmly, "and that the expression you're staring at me with right now doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Of course," Draco said, with a quick flash of bitterness that transmuted several of the emotions he was feeling. "Still hiding behind the curse, still acting as though it's the only thing that can justify what I feel."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not _hiding behind it_ to want to make sure it's gone, you bastard. Besides, I want to make sure that none of the passion you'll feel when I fuck you is artificial. Which means no drink to get up your courage and no aphrodisiac potions, either," he added as an afterthought.

Draco sat up straight, his veins ringing with desire that ate the other emotions. "If you think that I need that," he began.

"I've heard about your sexual conquests before the curse began," Harry said. "Several times, over the last several days. Ron wanted to make sure that I knew before I 'took up' with you. I don't think that one wizard could have made that many conquests without some liquid assistance, at times."

Draco laughed aloud, in both fury and delight. _This_ was what he had dreamed of, Harry challenging him instead of laying back and taking whatever Draco or fate handed him. Harry making some attempt to grasp the treasures laid out before him, and not refusing timidly, out of fear that he might hurt someone.

"You make a lot of assumptions," he said. "That all the tales are true. That I needed potions to seduce people. That you're going to be the one fucking me."

Harry clenched his hands in front of him as if it took a lot for him to refrain from reaching through the fire and grabbing Draco. Draco opened his mouth to urge him on, but Harry spoke before he could. "Fine. Then it was drink, wasn't it? And a potion to make sure that you could perform once you had someone in bed with you. Pardon me, that _is_ a fine distinction."

Draco leaned forwards until he almost bumped his head on the bricks surrounding the hearth. "If you think that," he breathed, "then you ought to come here right now, while you know I'm sober, and give me a chance to try it."

Harry's eyes widened with piercing excitement, and Draco thought for a moment he would do it. Then Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Really? You think I'm _that_ stupid? I know that you think I'm pathetic, masochistic, desperate for someone else to make decisions. Coming through right now would just confirm your opinion of me."

Draco grimaced. He had thought sometimes that his own words would come back to bite him, but he had to admit, he hadn't thought it would be in quite this dramatic a manner. "I can think that you're full of faults and still want you."

"Of course." Harry had a sharp bitterness in his voice now. "Nothing wrong with my body, after all."

"You think that I'm going to fuck you and then leave?" Draco raised one eyebrow in disdain. "We've come a little far for that."

"Oh, no," Harry said. "I do think you'll stay to fuck a second time. Maybe even a third. But how can you trust me? Because I'll take your words and twist them around. How can you want to be with me? Because you know that I'll sacrifice my time with you the instant someone else needs me. How can you take any pride in being with someone who's more intelligent than he used to be? Because you know that my research is only a hobby, and you'll always be reminded of the pain I caused you and how long it took to cure you."

Draco leaned back with his eyes narrowed. The terms of their conversation had shifted, and he had to understand how before he said anything else.

"My words stung you," he said. "But you know that I didn't expect you to believe every one of them and simply roll over and surrender. Why are you saying these things now?"

"Because I'm trying to change," Harry said grimly, "but you must know that the change isn't going to happen overnight, and that there'll always be the chance that I missed a spot. You _know_ that. I want to know what you expect me to do about it. Are you going to attack with the same devastating outrage every time I make a mistake? Because I can put up with that for a little while, but I'll give up eventually. You must know that I can't stay with someone who constantly criticizes me and does nothing else, not if I'm going to try and be the self-confident person you'd like me to be. If I just take your criticism and like it, I'm masochistic again and you'll be bored."

"Your contacting me shows that you're taking some initiative, not just sitting back and waiting for other people to make decisions," Draco said slowly, picking his way through the unexpected boneyard that had opened up in front of him. "And I can see that you want me. You made a mistake by telling my mother that you loved me first instead of me, but you didn't endlessly apologize for it. Those things are different. Your incessant guilt isn't," he had to add. "You're still more worried about the pain that you'll inflict on me than about what you'll inflict on yourself."

*

Harry knew that last wasn't true, but he had no idea how to deny the accusation without sounding like a selfish bastard. Or _being_ one, in fact. His stomach was already twisted up in knots, and he was watching Draco's face endlessly, for fear that he might have stung him with some words that hurt too much and would have to be taken back.

He forced a deep breath through his lungs and reminded himself, again, that Draco was a big boy and could stand up for himself. If anything Harry said was too much, then Draco would walk away. He wouldn't stand there and take the pain because he believed he deserved it, which was what he thought Harry did.

_I'm trying not to._

"I'm not entirely guilty," he said. "You're right, I would be apologizing otherwise. I still don't want to hurt you, Draco, but I won't make avoiding that the center of my life." He paused, then added before he could think too much about it and spoil the symmetry of the words that had come into his mind, "And if you make hurting me _your_ center, then I'll walk away."

Draco's eyes shone, and he reached out one hand as if he had forgotten that a barrier of flames separated them. He pulled it back with a shake of his head, but his gaze never wavered from Harry. "Very good," he said softly. "That was what I wanted. For you to think about it and then start fighting back, eventually."

"It didn't sound like that when you first spoke the words," Harry pointed out. Since Hermione had been there to hear the fight, she had been on Harry night and day about the words Draco used, his tone of vicious pleasure, and her own conviction that Draco just wanted to punish Harry for having been there to witness his embarrassment and his weakness in the face of the curse.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I was rejoicing in being free of the curse and _able_ to speak those words and have you listen, just then, instead of blaming it on a reflection of your own emotions. It doesn't mean that I believe all those things, all the time." He stared at Harry and added, "But enough of them to make a difference, if you don't intend to change _anything_."

"Some things," Harry said. "Not all."

Draco bared his teeth. "And I believe I told you that pleases me. Having someone who rolls over submissively for me every time we disagree is no fun."

"Had a lot of that, have you?" Harry muttered, barely loud enough to be heard.

Draco widened his lips around his bared teeth in something that you could call a smile, if you were stupid, and Harry wasn't. Most of the time, anyway. "Enough to know I don't like it," he said with calm that Harry knew was feigned. He'd been around Draco a lot in the past few weeks. He recognized the jumping of his pulse and the way that color flooded his cheeks, even the way his eyes focused. Draco was aroused. "If you're going to offer me something different, get over here and do it."

Harry laughed at him. Something was stirring in his head and his heart, something so foreign that it took him a moment to recognize it as hot, giddy enjoyment. "Really? But that would be submissive."

Draco stared at him. "I see I'll have to endlessly watch my tongue."

Harry smiled in contentment.

"Then come for another reason." Draco was suddenly serious, or near enough to it not to make a difference, stretching his hand out again and letting his fingers hover just beyond the flames. "You still have to examine me and make sure the signs of the curse are fading, don't you?"

His lips curled up, and his face shone like a wolf's that had just seen the tracks of the prey it wanted to devour.

Harry gasped as his own desire tossed him to the top of a scalding wave. He had to swallow twice before he could answer, and then his voice was more breathless than he liked. "Yes, of course I have to do that."

"Then _come through._ " Draco practically bit off the last word, and stretched his hand out as though he wanted to snatch Harry this time and drag him through the fire, willing or not.

Harry smiled, and reached out, answering back.

The lurch through the Floo was nothing like normal. As always, Harry wanted to pause and make sure that he didn't have soot on his robes or dust on his glasses, but this time, Draco bore him off his feet, pressing him back against the mantle as he kissed, urgently, his eyes falling shut in the excess of his desire.

Harry moaned and opened his mouth, his tongue answering Draco's with a curl and a dash and a clash of teeth. He could barely breathe, but for a few moments, that wasn't important, as Draco's hands tightened on his arms and his saliva replaced Harry's air. Harry could feel his heart pounding as urgently as though he was running a race or struggling for his life.

In a way, he was. This was the end of a long, harsh struggle, the culmination of what he wanted.

And if he had to snatch the moment to cast the spell that would tell him the curse was gone, seeing only clear air instead of black or red shimmering around Draco's shoulders, well, at least it was done and he could be reassured.

Draco pulled back from him, eyes shaded, fighting towards seriousness and not getting there. His hands were full of Harry's shoulders and arse, and Harry couldn't take his out of Draco's hair. He tugged, and Draco let his head fall back with a light groan that he bit off almost as soon as he made it. His eyes were furious, searching Harry's face as though the sight of Harry made him want to destroy things.

"This is the way it's going to work," he said, voice rough with passion. "You are going to let me do what I want."

"And that's exactly the kind of submission you said you _didn't_ want," Harry snapped back, leaning on the fireplace as he panted. He had to get his wits back, _had_ to, or he thought Draco would chew straight through him and leave only the husk. "Make up your mind."

Draco tore one hand free of Harry's shoulder to slam into stone and wood, or maybe to pin him there; Harry could still feel the impress of those burning fingers on his skin. "You're going to give in," he said. "That's not submission, not if you choose it."

"You usually have partners who _don't_ choose to submit to you, then?" Harry asked. "My, my, what kinky tastes."

Draco's eyes darkened as if someone had blown smoke into them. Harry found himself smiling. He didn't know _why_ , exactly. This kind of teasing could be dangerous for him, for the both of them. And it was skirting the edge of issues that it might be better not to raise when they were so close to having sex at last.

But if this was the real Draco, the one not under the curse, then Harry thought this might be _his_ real self, too, or at least the one Draco roused in him. They would both have to learn to live with someone less than perfect.

"You know exactly what I mean." Draco's hands were full of his hair now, gripping, tugging, and squeezing in a way that wasn't soothing. Harry had to fight not to close his eyes against Draco's stare. "And I'll thank you to stop pretending that you don't." He bent his head and kissed Harry once more, stabbing his tongue into Harry's mouth, pressing him against the mantle again, as if his one goal was to ensure that Harry carried home bruises on his back.

Harry tried to give as good as he got, but his position and the sheer force Draco was using made it difficult. Things were easier once he got a grip on Draco's shoulders and twisted so that he could shove Draco back a step or two and breathe on his ear.

"Yes," he said, or rather breathed, while Draco squirmed in his grip and stared at him and tried his best not to pant. That he came as close as he did to panting was, Harry thought, entirely due to the wonderful things that Harry was doing as he slid a hand down Draco's spine to his arse and grabbed a handful of it. "I know what you want. The question is whether you'll get all of it or only half." Again, he breathed, and when Draco moaned, mouth open, eyes part-drowned in black, Harry bit down neatly on his earlobe.

Draco hissed and then turned on him, wrestling him down to the floor. Harry went with it, amused and convinced that he could stand back up again whenever he wanted. But once the floor was against his back, Draco crouched over him, staring with eyes so wide that Harry wriggled and turned his head away, and when he heaved upwards, there seemed to be too much strength in Draco's limbs.

"I intend to take what you give me," Draco said. "And a little bit more."

This time, he was the one who bent his mouth to Harry's throat, and Harry was the one who bent back, helplessly giving him access, his fingers opening and closing in useless motions against the back of Draco's head.

*

Draco was so full of desire that it had become pain.

He wanted to suck Harry, bite him, fuck him until they were both exhausted, hold him down, and tease him until Harry let his magic go in sheer insanity. All the conflicting longings washed back and forth like seawater, and Draco whined and was ashamed of it, burying the sound in fierce bites to Harry's neck.

Harry whined back, and Draco was vaguely reassured that he sounded neither as animal nor as weak as he had feared. He leaned back on his heels, licked his lips, and pressed a hand to Harry's collarbone to hold him down when he would have risen. Harry blinked back at him, more than confused.

"I'm going to take you," Draco said. "But not here."

"So many promises, so few actions," Harry said, and gave Draco a smirk that said he knew exactly what kind of challenge he was issuing.

Draco still couldn't let him get away with it.

He scratched Harry's chest hard enough to make him hiss from the burn, and then bit his neck again. Biting in a certain place, he found, made Harry go limp and soft, and scratching the side of his scalp, raking his fingers through Harry's hair, made him utter a buzzing sound that Draco didn't think he was fully conscious of making. Harry didn't seem to notice the Lightening Charm Draco cast, nor the way that Draco scooped him up and deftly relieved him of his wand.

At least, he didn't notice until Draco tossed him down in the middle of his large bed in the middle of his even larger bedroom.

"What--" Harry whispered and turned his head from side to side as though the bedroom would turn back into the room where he had come through the Floo connection just because he wished it would. "What are you doing?"

"Fucking you," Draco said succinctly, because he was done with games, and cast a spell that deprived them both of their clothes.

The way that Harry's eyes widened and darkened was extremely arousing, and Draco had meant his earlier thought that he was done with the games. He tossed the wand away and crawled into bed with Harry.

Harry reached out for him, and Draco bowed his head into the bites and kisses that followed, more than prepared to drown.

And be drowned in return.


	29. Undivided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nova cupiditas_ —the curse that makes the victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Harry had the distinct feeling that he was in trouble.

He could hardly blink, so strong was the desire to keep his eyes focused on Draco and see what he did next. He could hardly do anything but pant and writhe and whine. Draco straddled his legs and stared down at him for long moments, and the anticipation built to the point where Harry felt pain clenched around his heart.

Then Draco moved, but all he did was reach out one hand and trail his fingers down the middle of Harry's chest, precisely between his nipples. Harry tried lunging to one side so that Draco would at least touch _something_ sensitive, but that resulted in Draco shaking his head and practically baring his teeth at him.

"No," he said. "Not that way, Harry. Not so easily. You teased and tormented me when I was under the curse. I hardly got to touch you. I think you should suffer the same thing that you inflicted on me, don't you? This is revenge."

_And fucking all at once,_ Harry mentally completed the thought. He couldn't hide the way his cock jumped against Draco's arse, even though at the same time his chest burned where Draco's fingers had touched and the rest of his body felt cold and lonely. He couldn't imagine delaying orgasm for _that_ long, long enough to give Draco time to satisfy himself.

And yet...

"Why do I feel so many contradictory things around you?" he whispered. "I want that and I don't want it. I think it's fair and I think it's unfair."

Draco's face broke into a smile, splendid despite--or perhaps because of--its meanness. "Welcome to the way that I felt about you for a week," he breathed, and lowered his head, breathing gently along the side of Harry's face.

Harry writhed again despite his attempt to keep still. Oh, it hurt and was brilliant and promised things to come and _ached._

"I promise," Draco panted against him, his breath traveling across Harry's cheek and lips and down to his neck, where it stirred a pulse that made Harry arch his head back in helpless need. "I promise that you'll get to come _eventually._ When that will be, of course, I can't say." His hand cupped Harry's cock as he shifted back, and Harry bucked just from the way his fingers _curved._ "Will you put up with it?"

The acknowledgment that it would have to be Harry's choice to do so, that Draco couldn't just overpower him and expect to get his own way without consent, only made Harry burn hotter.

The burning consumed his voice, in fact. He nodded and tipped his head to the side, rubbing his cheek on the pillow, a soundless whine emerging from his open mouth that he sincerely hoped Draco didn't hear.

*

Harry Potter--the man who had saved the world, the research genius who had come up with a partial cure to _Nova Cupiditas_ and then managed to do what was necessary to effect the rest of it--was naked beneath him, reduced to the ragged edge of control by Draco's _words_.

Draco didn't see how he could ever give this up.

He sat back for a few moments, considering where he should touch Harry first. Harry flushed more and more deeply, and finally gave into squirming, though he had seemed to make it a point of honor to hold still before, his shoulders pressing against the pillow as he gave Draco an imploring look. His hands had hooked into claws by now, and then hooked into each other, as if he knew--without telling--that touching Draco before he gave permission was out.

Draco had to close his eyes. His cock was swelling, and he was afraid that he would come in a truly undignified way if he paid too much attention to Harry without looking at something else for a while.

"You're so," he whispered, couldn't think of a proper adjective to end the sentence, and left it alone. Instead, he bent, doing the first thing that came into his head, and licked a long stripe up Harry's throat and across his face, ending on his ear.

Harry whimpered. When he glanced up at Draco, his eyes were burning all the way down. No shields, Draco marveled, gazing at him. He knew it was the first time he had ever seen Harry this open and unprotected.

When he began to touch Harry, he made sure to keep his touches light, just the faintest, barest, most feathery things: across the ribs, down the shoulder, along the collarbone, around the ear but not on it. Harry started to make high-pitched sounds that Draco couldn't call either whines or whimpers about halfway through it, snorting through his nose and twitching violently whenever Draco touched a new place.

Draco wondered if Harry noticed that Draco himself was nearly as overwhelmed. He was trembling, and had to pause between every new touch to get hold of himself. Every moment, the temptation reached out to seize, hold, grasp, and _take_.

But he wanted this more. He wanted to drive Harry to the edge of madness, the edge of control, the way he had been brought when the curse was real and Harry wouldn't allow him so much as one little caress, instead putting those bloody blue barriers between them.

Intellectually, Draco understood why he had done that. Emotionally, he hadn't forgiven Harry yet.

He sat back on his heels, temptation a bit cooled by the memory, and studied Harry's frantically flushed face. Then he placed one hand over his cheek and stroked his eyelashes, so delicately that he stood no chance of touching the fluttering eyes between them. Harry's whimpers climbed an octave in pitch, and he sounded truly in pain.

Draco smiled and moved down his body, getting used to the warm taste of Harry's skin on his back and behind his knees, lazily licking his hipbone, moving up to rest his cheek on Harry's belly. Harry's cock was a few inches away, and Draco closed his eyes against temptation.

That didn't help. He could still _smell_ it, incredibly hot and inviting.

"I'm going to suck you in a minute," he muttered, because it had only just occurred to him to wonder if Harry was as susceptible to a certain kind of dirty talk as he was. "Would you like that? Would you thrash and cry out for me? Would you toss your head back and take those deep, gasping breaths that I hear you taking now, or would it be even more dramatic and hard to compete with?"

A choking was his only answer. Draco smiled, and, unable to wait any longer even in the name of sweet revenge, leaned forwards and took Harry's cock in his mouth.

*

It was like heaven.

Part of Harry, heavier and so still connected to the earth, told him that was ridiculous, that he didn't know what heaven was like and that no sex, no matter how wonderful, could compare to it. He'd had blowjobs before. They had been good, but they'd never been the kind of sex that he liked best.

This time, he opened his eyes and looked down and saw Draco bent over the task, blond hair dripping and falling off his forehead into his eyes, which were shut in concentration. His cheeks were flushed and moving slowly, as though even he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with Harry yet. His tongue coiled and lashed with great certainty, then slowed down and traveled back and forth in long, slow, thoughtful licks.

Harry couldn't help it. His hips lifted, and he loosed a muffled, urgent cry.

Draco applied one more lick and then pulled back, making Harry shiver in lust and longing. His lips were thick with saliva and a whiter liquid; his eyes were so hot that Harry squirmed in place, knees jerking and feet kicking.

"I didn't think that you would interrupt me, Harry," Draco said with a devastating gentleness that broke another whine free from the clog that blocked them in Harry's throat. "I thought you understood the _rules_ better than that. But I see you don't." He paused, staring at Harry, eyes hooded, and then said, "I'm going to give you one more chance." He leaned down and licked again, at the same moment as two of his fingers traced back behind Harry's arse and tapped his hole.

It was too good, too sudden, too _much_. Harry lifted his legs as high as he could, straining towards Draco's mouth and any other part of his body that he could reach, his cry breaking free in a stream of wordless moans. But soon Harry got his voice under control and resolved it into, "Please, please, please, _please_."

Draco pulled free again, or almost completely, holding the head of Harry's cock between his lips as he stared down at him. "What?" he whispered. "What did I hear you say?"

Harry held still in agonized paralysis for a long moment, panting, wanting to keep still so that Draco would continue sucking him and wanting to press ahead with his begging so that Draco would do something even _more_ magnificent. But Draco didn't move, which meant the decision was up to him.

A part of Harry appreciated that as consistent with Draco's earlier requests of him even as the rest of him burned in humiliation. But he _wanted_ it so much, Draco's motives for holding back and teasing him no longer mattered. He shut his eyes and whispered, "You win, bastard, all right? Please, please, _please_ fuck me." His last words trailed away into a moan, caused not by the soft licks Draco was giving him now, but by the thought of what might happen to him if Draco delayed any more.

*

_Well._

Draco moved back from Harry, blinking a bit so that he could get some of the sweat--and what felt like precome--out of his eyes. He had hoped that Harry would break and beg fairly soon, but he hadn't realized that it would happen like _that_.

Harry's face was completely red by now, almost as dark as his hair. The flush had traveled down his body, and his skin was only pale where Draco's hands rested on it. When he saw Draco looking, he arched again, his eyes closing and a weak sob breaking past his lips. "Please," he whispered again.

Draco bent over and kissed him, intent on the heat of his mouth, the heat of his throat, the heat of his skin and the burning that threatened to make him desperate. Yes, he would do what Harry wanted. There came a point where revenge was only punishment, both for the person one was taking it on and oneself.

"Lube," he murmured against Harry's lips.

"You should be the one in charge of providing that, not me," Harry snapped. He seemed to be getting a bit of his self-control back again now that Draco had agreed. "It's your bedroom."

Draco reached down and carefully cupped Harry's balls, dipping his fingers between them, running them up and down, back and forth, in parallel paths that Harry could feel but not predict. It didn't take long until Harry was babbling and jerking against his fingers like someone being roasted. Then Draco took his hand away and waited.

"Yes, yes, _please_ ," Harry went on moaning, and then stared at Draco in shock before he looked away, a new redness mounting in his cheeks.

"Good," Draco murmured, aware that he was smiling, not sure he wanted to see what the smile looked like. He reached for his wand. " _Accio_ lube."

The tube of it that he usually kept in a drawer beside the bed flew over to him, and Draco slathered it on his cock before reaching for Harry's hole. He became aware that Harry was holding his breath, and smiled at him.

"God, I want you," Harry said, staring back at him with his eyes wide and wild.

Draco's faint amusement melted into need. In fact, now it felt as if he _was_ only that emotion, his skin and muscle a container for it, his bones infused with it. He needed to be inside Harry, he needed to be above him, he needed to be covering Harry's body with his and pulling on his cock. He crushed his mouth to Harry's and slid his fingers hard into Harry's body.

Harry jerked up against him in shock. He closed his eyes and muttered, "That didn't--I thought you'd be more gentle."

"I'll be gentle when we have time," Draco said. He kicked impatiently at Harry's legs, which were still closed for some reason, and Harry opened them. He screwed his fingers more deeply and firmly into Harry, the way he imagined screwing his cock, and Harry made one of his whine-whimper noises.

"That's it," Draco heard, and honestly was not sure which one of them had said it. But the words were there, and from the way Harry was arching his neck, muscles ridged out, eyes drifting shut even when he didn't want them to, the action was, too.

Draco wanted to appreciate things more, take things more slowly, since he'd vowed to tease Harry, but it occurred to him that there came a certain point where the teasing might end and _both_ of them be satisfied. That point was here. And when he pulled away and saw the almost transcendent expression on Harry's face, he thought that point was here for both of them.

He splayed his fingers one more time over his cock so that it was coated with a liberal splash of oil, and then entered Harry.

*

Harry grunted when Draco pushed into him. It seemed the only sound he could make, and an involuntary one at that, escaping him in constant huffs as his body and his breath reacted to the presence of someone inside him.

Someone so very wanted and so desired.

Harry clenched his hands on Draco's arms and looked up at him. His only consolation at the moment was that Draco also looked surprised, his eyes as wide as a startled cat's, his hair falling over his face and sticking to his forehead. Then Draco bowed his head and pressed his lips together, his eyes shutting while his hair acted as a shield.

Harry said the first thing that came into his head. "What? Scared to let me see what you feel?"

Draco snapped his head up and snapped his hips inwards. Harry was finally able to stop grunting and let out an ecstatic groan instead as Draco hit his prostate. And of course he was grinning over that, the smug bastard. Harry shook his head, contradicting the evidence of his own cock dripping on his belly and the surges of pleasure that made his body practically liquid to say, "I've had better."

Evidently not impressed by the breaks in Harry's voice or the effort it obviously took him to say that, Draco set a brutal pace, snarling in between the grunts he made himself, "I'll...fuck any of them...out of your head. All...mine."

Harry yowled. He knew from Draco's smirk that he had heard it and knew how to name the sound, and for a moment, Harry wondered if it was possible to pull yourself off someone's cock when they were fucking you.

And then it ceased to matter.

Draco was everywhere, the fucking, fucking bastard, moving inside Harry, moving him _backwards,_ shifting and pushing and pummeling him. And it felt so good at the same time that Harry was left wondering why he'd never experienced the like before. He'd had lovers who knew his body better, who had spent more time around him. At times he had thought that the relationship he'd had with Ginny was the most perfect he'd ever have, because they knew each other so well.

But Draco...

His hands grasped Harry's nipples and pulled. Harry yowled again and shoved himself onto Draco's cock hard enough to make Draco's eyes cross. For a moment he halted, panting, staring cautiously at Harry as if that had hurt.

"How can you do that?" he whispered. "You're supposed to be lying still, so overwhelmed that you can't do something like that."

Harry didn't respond at first, shutting his eyes against the heat in Draco's face. His body thrummed, and he moved, helplessly, before he gave Draco a response. That scraped his prostate, and Harry hunched and humped, frantically, shamelessly, before Draco gave in and thrust again.

"I can do that because I can meet and match you in anything you do," Harry answered at last, and if the sentence wasn't as smooth and flowing as he had wanted it to be in his imagination, broken by gasps and wheezes as if he was ninety years old, it didn't matter, not with pleasure filling his head and brain in a muffling, warm wave.

*

Draco had thought it might be like this, when he allowed himself to dream.

Harry was meeting him thrust for thrust, push for push, eyes flaring with challenge and hips moving relentlessly, so that Draco no longer thought he could back away even if he wanted to. On and on and on and _on_ , and Draco's neck ached with the stiff posture he was holding it in and his eyes felt burned dry of moisture.

Harry's eyes were enough to do that to anyone, that and the fire that burned through them. Draco felt as if he were freefalling when he looked into them. He had no idea where he would land, or if he would.

Inevitably, his thrusts became sloppy as he felt his orgasm grip and gather him. His balls pulled up with a painful tug. Draco hissed and slowed, shortened his shoves, only to have Harry take up the slack and drive himself down with a force that had to hurt. And yet, he kept on doing it.

"What," Draco said, too caught up in the rush that was beginning to consume him to even make it a question. It was beginning far away, that rush, and coming wildly closer and closer, ruthless, endless, making Draco quiver and shake.

"You aren't going to just finish and leave me lying here, limp and sticky," Harry spat, an expression in his eyes that seemed to come from memory, which annoyed Draco, since he had promised to fuck all memory of other lovers out of Harry's head. Though his arms felt heavy and hard to move, he reached up, gripped Harry's shoulders, and spilled him to the bed, then shoved hard enough into him to make his own eyes cross and Harry's fingers to stutter on his shoulders.

"Fine, bastard," Draco said. "I'll give you the fucking of your life, and you won't ever worry about that again, because you won't have a thought in your head that I didn't _put_ there." And he fucked Harry, throwing his back into it.

He watched as Harry's mouth dangled open and his pupils became blown until his eyes scarcely looked human. Now and then he rocked as though he remembered that he was supposed to be pushing back against Draco and hoped to do so while getting some revenge, but for the most part he just crouched there and let Draco shake him. His head tipped back, baring a throat so red that Draco couldn't resist. He lunged forwards and clapped his teeth into Harry's throat, sinking them deep.

Harry howled like a wolf, and came, and came, and came. Draco could feel the spray warm on his stomach and hands and wrists, sliding down like liquid chains.

That made him come, feeling Harry's come, his body locking as he shot deep into Harry's arse, the pleasure swirling through him in a wild mixture of light and noise and chaos, until at last he sank down onto the bed and Harry's chest, satisfied, replete.

*

Harry had heard about fucks that left someone unable to move after them through sheer weariness, but this was the first time he had ever experienced one.

He tried three times to shift over from under Draco before he could. And when he did, he felt such severe twinges in his shoulders and arms that he almost wished he had stayed put.

"Where are you going?" Draco's voice had more edges than Harry's satisfied mood had let him think it would. Draco's grip tightened on him like bands of forged iron. "I didn't give your permission to move."

Harry turned to him, shaking his head. He was thinking many things, but the one that came out of his mouth was, "Are we always going to be like this? So wild, so jarring with each other? Are we going to carve wounds on each other all the time?"

Draco paused for a moment, his face unexpectedly thoughtful. Then he pulled Harry's head up by the hair and kissed him, tongue sliding around his teeth, stabbing into his gums and making Harry all but choke. Harry ripped free and shook his head, wishing that he was far enough away that Draco couldn't feel his cock already beginning to stir again. "That's not an answer."

"Isn't it?" Draco gave him a level stare. "Yes, I think we are going to be like that. We can't help it. It's what we are, and we'll conflict with each other. I'll have rows with your friends. You'll think my parents are too restrictive and too pure-blooded. You'll want more affection from me, showed more openly. I'll want to come first in your life, and there are times when you'll have to put someone else first. I _know_ that."

Harry started to open his mouth to ask why they persisted with their relationship anyway, and then closed it. He knew. He had worked out the answer himself when he was alone except for Draco's voice in his head.

_We've come too far not to at least try._

Draco's hand closed on his arm with an urgent pull. Harry looked at him, and found his eyes staring directly into Harry's own, so bright and clear that Harry winced from them, a little. It was like being pierced directly by a pair of sharpened pins.

"We'll be like that," Draco said. "And, in the end, we will be _better_ than that. I _know_ it."

His voice, so fierce and so near, was persuasive as nothing else could have been. And Harry remembered that this was only their first night in bed together, in so many ways. They had the time to change and improve. It wouldn't _always_ be about ripping each other apart.

It might just be that, at this point in time, this was what they needed.

Harry let his head rest on Draco's shoulder, and closed his eyes. Draco smoothed his hand down the nape of Harry's neck and sighed into his ear.

"You can trust me to fight," Draco said, "if nothing else."

"I know," Harry said. "And you can trust me to do the same thing." He stirred. "And now, allow me to correct a mistake I made earlier tonight."

Draco raised his eyebrows. He looked so beautiful, Harry thought, even with sweat drying on his cheeks and his hair hanging limp.

"I do think I love you," Harry said, leaning his hand on Draco's cheek.

Draco's eyes shone, and if he couldn't yet return the sentiment in words, Harry knew how to read the kiss that gripped his mouth, drove him to the bed, and, inwardly, sent him spiraling into a new battle.

A new life.

A new desire.

**The End.**


End file.
